To Be Loved
by silentclock
Summary: Harry Potter grows up on Privet Drive, where he is neither loved nor hated; rather, he is treated with indifference. Will his relentless pursuit of knowledge allow him to defeat the Dark Lord? Will he ever be able to live the life he desires?
1. Prologue

Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. Harry Potter and his universe are the property of the brilliant JK Rowling. The same, of course, applies to all following chapters.

* * *

Vernon Dursley was having a very bad day. Not bad in the conventional sense, but abnormal. And to him, that was even worse. The freakishness started early when, on his way to work, he saw a _cat _reading. Later, the abominations came out in droves, all of them wearing dresses- even the men. One of them had the audacity to try to speak with _him_, Vernon Dursley, who was perfectly normal and different from the freaks in every conceivable way.

Yes, all things considered, Vernon Dursley's day was one he would prefer to forget. To top it all off, he was still awake well after midnight. He had been lying in bed for several hours contemplating his day, trying to fall asleep. He had to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning after all, and could not have people talking about him staying awake late at some party. To be fair, he was only unable to sleep because the brandy he drank after seeing an owl in broad daylight was not sitting well with his heavy dinner.

After much consideration, Vernon decided he would not be able to sleep without a glass of warm milk and perhaps a couple biscuits. He rolled out of bed and lumbered downstairs to the kitchen. When he was heading back to bed after enjoying his snack, he heard what sounded like three different voices coming from his front yard.

Vernon stormed to the front door and threw it open before fainting.

The first thing he saw upon regaining consciousness was a very old man in a dress. He was leaning over looking down at Vernon over a pair of half-moon spectacles, while his silver beard and hair dangled near the floor. "Vernon Dursley, isn't it?" he asked as he placed what appeared to be a stick in a pocket.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" he blustered.

The man chuckled softly before answering, "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"You're one of those… those freaks, aren't you?"

"I am a wizard, yes."

"Get off my property."

Dumbledore frowned, "I fear I cannot do that just yet, Mr. Dursley. I wish I were here for a more pleasant reason, but I must tell you that your sister-in-law and her husband were killed."

"Got themselves blown up, eh?"

He sighed, "I am here to deliver your nephew. He will need a proper home."

Vernon's face turned puce and he started growling, "I most certainly will not take in that little freak."

"Mr. Dursley, I must insist," Dumbledore began.

"I don't give a damn what you insist. I have my own family to support and will not be raising your little oddity."

"I am prepared to pay for his room and board."

Vernon's eyes lit up upon hearing this. He had only recently started selling drills, and was not yet making enough to live the life he knew he deserved. "All right then. I'll want to make a decent profit on the boy."

"Very well," Dumbledore responded solemnly. "We will, of course, be keeping an eye on Harry to make sure he is treated properly."

Vernon grumbled but did not say anything.

"When he is eleven, he will be attending Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.

They spent the rest of the night discussing an agreement which would allow Harry to stay at Privet Drive for monthly payments at the expense of the Headmaster.


	2. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was a very well-mannered child; at least, that is what all his teachers told him. He wanted to make his teachers proud of him, even though he knew it was not the same as love, it it was the closest he was likely to ever receive. His marks were wonderful, almost perfect, and they were hard earned. He spent all his free time studying for his classes or reading. He read through all his textbooks multiple times and planned to read through them again. His aunt would allow him to visit the library two times every month, and he always borrowed as many books as he was allowed.

He had taught himself how to read at a very young age. His cousin Dudley spent most of his time watching the television or playing video games on his computer, but Harry quickly discovered his preference for a good book.

His relatives neither encouraged nor discouraged his scholarly pursuits. Like with most aspects of his life, they did not care.

Harry still remembered the time when he brought home his first ever test. He had seen Dudley bring home a test the day before- he had barely passed, and his Aunt Petunia stuck it on the refrigerator, smiling proudly. Harry had gotten a perfect score, and could not wait to show his Aunt. He was sure she would be proud and hoped that she would love him for it, but she had ignored him.

He still yearned for the Dursleys' love, but had come to accept the indifference. At least they did not hate him. They gave him a bedroom and he shared meals with them. Unlike most children his age he was not required to do chores, so he had even more time to dedicate to his studies.

His cousin Dudley was civil to him when they were home, because his parents forced him to be. At school, however, Dudley did his best to prevent Harry from having any friends. He and his gang threatened away anyone who tried to befriend Harry.

The worst part, he supposed, was that he loved his family regardless of how they treated him. While his aunt and uncle were uncaring and his cousin cruel, they still gave him a place to live after his parents were killed. He hated being so alone.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass hated her parents, but she had not always. She spent several years trying to convince them to love her like she loved them, but they were too busy to either notice or care. It took a number of years, but she eventually stopped wasting her love on them, and slowly began to resent them. That resentment festered, and eventually developed into hatred.

She didn't hate her entire family. Her grandmother, Adeline, was her favorite person in the world. They loved each other unconditionally. Adeline was extremely disappointed in her daughter, Emelia, who had allowed gold and the pursuit of it to become more important than family. Adeline took it upon herself to raise her granddaughter to be a respectable woman.

Her parents taught her independence, but Daphne learned nearly else everything she knew from her grandmother. Adeline taught her that she needed to be strong, both internally and externally. She taught her that the ends always justify the means. She taught her magic.

Adeline gave Daphne her old Hogwarts textbooks to learn magical theory through the week. On Saturdays and Sundays, Adeline loaned her granddaughter her wand and let her practice spells.

Daphne also loved her sister, Astoria. She had done her best to take care of Astoria, and always taught her the lessons Adeline taught her.

Daphne was a pureblood, and her parents were both very proud of their status. Adeline, however, told her that blood was unimportant, and her grandmother was always right.

* * *

"Hey Potter, Mum and Dad left to eat dinner with one of Dad's clients," Dudley called as he ran up the stairs. He barged into his cousin's room and saw Harry reading from his science book. "Why are you reading on a Saturday?" Harry, too engrossed in his reading, did not even notice Dudley. Angry at being ignored, Dudley ripped the book out of Harry's hands, tearing out a page in the process.

"I'll teach you to listen to me, Potter." Dudley drew back his fist to punch him, while Harry raised his hands to defend himself and closed his eyes. He opened them when he heard a crash and saw his cousin on his back beneath the bookshelf he had knocked over when he slammed into it.

* * *

Harry spent the next few months researching what had happened to his cousin, and was completely baffled. He scoured the library for material to explain the situation, and found it should not have been possible.

Stranger still was that this was not the first time something unexplainable happened around Harry. He recalled the time he was running from Dudley and ended up on the roof of the school. It seemed almost like _magic_.

Today was his cousin's birthday, and the rest of his family had gone to the zoo to celebrate. Harry wandered downstairs to find something for breakfast and noticed that the post had not yet been collected, so he did it himself. He sifted through the envelopes until one caught his eye- the return address was: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry considered the implications. Witchcraft and Wizardry. Was that anything like magic? He decided to ask his Aunt Petunia about it when she returned from the zoo.

The rest of the day seemed to pass at an agonizingly slow pace for Harry. By the time his relatives arrived, he was beginning to get impatient. As soon as she walked through the door, he asked, "Aunt Petunia, what's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

He finally knew why strange things always happened around him; he was a wizard. Apparently, the envelope he found contained the monthly payment his relatives received to raise him. His Aunt Petunia had been very reluctant to give him any details, but he had coaxed them out of her. He was most disturbed by what had happened to his parents. He now knew they had been murdered by a dark wizard named Voldemort. A dark wizard had killed the only people who ever loved him, and Harry decided that he would avenge them.

When he turned eleven, he would attend Hogwarts, a school for magic. He had always been the best at school, and quickly decided that he would maintain that reputation at Hogwarts. He would be the most powerful wizard in the world.

He sat on his bed analyzing his situation. Exactly how did one practice magic?

* * *

Daphne had never felt as alone as she did when her beloved grandmother left her alone with her parents. She stood, unmoving, in front of her grandmother's casket as silent tears tracked down her cheeks. Around her neck hung her grandmother's favorite pendant, which she had given her shortly before her death.

She promised herself that she would become completely independent. She would never again allow herself to _need_ another person, as it hurt too badly to lose them. It was then she decided to mask her emotions to prevent others from trying to get close to her. She could not allow herself to be harmed like this again.

* * *

Harry had spent weeks trying to access his magic. It was within him, so it had to be something he could use consciously. For countless hours, he was consumed by a magical introspection. He saw a dazzling glow within him and felt the need to reach it. He grasped for it time and time again, getting closer with each attempt.

He, of course, maintained his impeccable marks at school. He could not allow one of the other students to surpass him. His teachers still praised his work, but he found himself caring less about the mundane world than he did about the magical one.

One quiet afternoon, when the Dursleys were out of the house, Harry finally reached his magic. He suddenly felt much lighter- like he could accomplish anything. He raised his hand and focused his attention on a book on the other side of the room. The book shot out of the shelf and into Harry's hand. "So that's magic."

* * *

Harry had finally received his letter and was satisfied to learn he would be attending Hogwarts in the fall. He never had any doubt, but was pleased that it was official. He felt like he had been practicing magic all his life, though he had only been using it intentionally for a little over a year. He was able to bring things to him and send them flying away. He could even lock and unlock doors.

On his eleventh birthday, he was awakened by what sounded like the front door being knocked off the hinges. He sprinted downstairs and spotted the largest person he had ever seen being let into the house by his uncle.

"'Arry?"

Harry spent the next half hour getting introduced to Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. Hagrid told him stories about his parents and the trouble James caused while he was in school. He was surprised, but relieved, that the Dursleys had even told Harry about magic. He did learn one new thing; he was famous for defeating Voldemort after he killed James and Lily.

Eventually, Harry and Hagrid made their way to London to purchase supplies. They entered a place called Diagon Alley through a pub and, sure enough, the patrons all seemed to worship him. Harry was not sure he felt about his fame. He had always wanted to be adored for his achievements, but he did not believe he had earned all this attention.

The pair visited the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and Harry was surprised at the wealth his parents had left him. He took out a sizeable bag of gold to purchase everything for school. Hagrid went lower below the ground and visited another vault. He removed a small package, the only thing in the vault, and refused to tell Harry what he had taken. Harry decided that he would investigate what Hagrid had removed later.

Harry made his way to a clothing store that specialized in robes. The owner of the shop was already helping another customer, a girl of the same age as Harry. Harry observed the girl. Her eyes were the bluest Harry had ever seen. Since he had taken control of his magic, he could usually tell what people were thinking, but the girl was an enigma. Her emotions were firmly under control, but she seemed to be depressed. There was an undeniable pain in her cobalt eyes.

"Will this be your first year at Hogwarts as well?" he asked her.

She gazed at him for a second, as if considering whether she should respond to his question before answering curtly, "Yes."

"How much magic can you do?"

"Enough."

Harry tried to initiate conversation with the girl until the shop owner ushered her out and began working with him. Her answers were always brief, suggesting that she had no desire to converse with Harry, but he was intrigued by her. He decided that he would learn more about her once he reached Hogwarts.

The rest of the day was uneventful, at least, as uneventful as a day in the wizarding world could be. He purchased his books and potions supplies and Hagrid bought him a pet owl, who he named Hedwig.

It was getting late, and Harry needed only one more thing. His wand. The old man who ran the wand store was the most eccentric man Harry had ever met, and he seemed quite pleased to finally meet Harry. He experimented with what felt like hundreds of wands before the old man pulled a dust covered out of the back room. As soon as he touched it, Harry knew he had found his wand, or according to the shop owner, his wand had found him. More bizarre was that his wand was a brother to Voldemort's. He was ecstatic to have such a powerful wand.

Hagrid brought him back to Privet Drive where he would have to stay for the next month until he could finally leave for Hogwarts. Time seemed to slow down as Harry's anticipation became palpable.

The day finally arrived. Uncle Vernon drove him to King's Cross Station, and instructed him to find someone to tell him how to get to Platform 9 ¾. Harry pushed his trolley in front of him as he approached Platform 10. He was surprised to see the girl from the robe store in front of him, though she never noticed his presence. He noticed that she was also alone. He began following her until he saw her run through the barrier between the two platforms.

He briefly considered his options, before deciding to follow her through the barrier. He began moving at a brisk pace and disappeared through the wall.


	3. Chapter 2

Daphne strode purposefully through the crowd on the platform toward the scarlet steam engine, ignoring the masses of people congregated around the train. She had no desire to associate with any of them.

She waved her grandmother's wand, which Ollivander said she had been chosen by after Adeline's death, and levitated her trunk into the train. She was glad to be able to use the wand, and supposed it had chosen her because her personality was similar to her grandmother's.

She made her way to the back of the train and chose an empty compartment- she did not want to give the impression that she was willing to befriend someone by sitting with them. With a wave of her wand, she closed and locked the compartment door. It was not a perfect locking charm, she knew, but it would keep any of the other first years from entering, and she doubted any of the upper years would want to associate with a firstie.

She gazed out the compartment window and saw the boy who had annoyed her at Madam Malkin's. She, of course, knew who he was, but was not about to fawn over the Boy-Who-Lived. He was, without a doubt, interesting, but his title meant little to her. She watched as he levitated his trunk in front of him. Without a wand. She felt her interest in Harry Potter grow.

* * *

Harry Potter hustled to board the Express. He knew he was in no danger of being late, but did not want to take any unnecessary risks. He carefully avoided the more boisterous compartments, and looked for one in which he could read his Charms text again.

As he approached the rear of the train, he saw a compartment with an open door. Inside was a bushy haired girl hunched over a Transfiguration book. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Not at all," she responded without looking up from the book.

Harry levitated his trunk higher and stowed it for the journey. The girl finally removed her nose from the book as she noticed the display of magic. "You've been practicing magic as well? I've yet to try levitating anything so large, but all the magic I've tried has worked. I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger." Her speech was quite rapid, and Harry wondered if she always talked so quickly when she was excited.

"I'm Harry Potter."

Hermione gasped, "I've read about you."

Harry chuckled at her reaction. In his short amount of time in the wizarding world, he had begun to expect to be recognized. Fame could be useful, he supposed, but he disliked the fuss with which it came.

He spent the next hour getting to know Hermione and was surprised to find that he liked the girl. He could not tell how powerful she was magically, but she was brilliant. He suspected she would compete with him to be top of their year.

"Which House do you think you'll be in?" he asked her.

"Probably Ravenclaw," she answered, "but Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad. What about you?"

"Either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I'm not foolhardy enough to be a Gryffindor."

"I should hope not, Potter," drawled a boy with sleek blond hair as he opened the compartment door. "I imagine father would send me to Durmstrang if I were sorted into Gryffindor."

"Is that right?"

"Yes," he confirmed as he examined the rest of the compartment and noticed Hermione, "Though I doubt you'll make it into Slytherin with the company you keep."

"And why is that, Mister…?" he asked, as his eyes turned cold.

He puffed out his chest and responded, "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You'll soon find out that blood is important, Potter. You wouldn't want to be seen associating with someone… below your station."

Hermione had told him that both her parents were Muggles. Harry cared far more about intellect than blood. His Mum was a Muggle-born, after all. "You're a Pure-blood, then?"

"Of course," he answered, offended at the idea anyone would think any differently.

"I suppose blood is important, isn't it?" he asked.

Draco grinned wickedly and extended his hand. "Indeed."

"Let's see some magic," Harry demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Take out your wand and show us what a Pure-blood can do, Malfoy."

"My father wouldn't let me practice in the Manor," he growled, lowering his hand.

Smirking, Harry said, "I guess blood isn't all it's made out to be. Is it, Malfoy?"

Draco's face turned red as he turned and stormed out of the compartment. Harry and Hermione read their books in companionable silence until another visitor intruded upon them. A gangly red-head walked through the door and took a seat next to Hermione. "My brothers kicked me out of their compartment. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Hermione looked at Harry and grinned. "Show us some magic."

The boy squinted as he tried to recall something. After a few seconds, his face lit up. "Well, my brothers taught me a spell to turn my rat yellow." He pulled an old rat out of one pocket and a wand out of another. His face scrunched up in concentration as he began waving the wand foolishly. "Sunshine, daisies," he began.

"Put that thing away," Harry interrupted him. "You'll poke someone in the eye."

Ron frowned as his face flushed in anger and embarrassment. He, too, vacated the compartment. Hermione smiled, "Let's try not to make _too_ many friends today, Harry."

Harry returned her smile and nodded his head. "Well, I suppose we should get our robes on, eh Hermione? Which one of us has to leave the compartment?"

"You," Hermione said simply. She laughed quietly as he left the compartment, grateful to have found a friend.

* * *

Daphne had enjoyed a relatively quiet train ride. Aside from Draco Malfoy pounding on the door for the better part of ten minutes, she had not been disturbed.

She looked up from her book and noticed that Harry Potter was standing outside the door. She smirked at him, knowing he would be unable to get past her locking charm.

* * *

Harry finally saw the girl from Madam Malkin's. He had been unable to find her after following her through the barrier onto the platform. She obviously wanted some privacy, as she had locked the door. Harry respected that, and was about to turn and leave until he saw her smirk at him. She did not think he was capable of beating her locking charm. "We can't have that," Harry said under his breath.

Harry grinned and waved his hand, unlocking the door, before walking back to his compartment.

* * *

Daphne was frustrated. Harry Potter had beaten her. He had undone her locking charm, and he had done it wandlessly. He had smiled that damnable smile of his and left immediately after his victory. He did not even stay to bother her. What was he playing at? She scowled as she cast the charm again.

* * *

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Harry was glad to have made his first friend and hoped he and Hermione would be in the same house.

After the train came to rest, he disembarked and followed the voice of Hagrid. The large man was nice enough, but Harry doubted they would ever be friends. He and Hermione found a boat with two empty spaces and settled themselves for the trip across the Great Lake.

Harry gaped as the castle came into view. It was truly an astounding sight, with thousands of brightly illuminated windows and turrets towering over the Scottish countryside. Harry's eyes did not waver from the castle until his boat bumped gently against the shore.

He and the other first years were led inside the magnificent castle and greeted by the stern looking Professor McGonagall. She explained the House system and led them into the Great Hall for the Sorting.

A patched, old hat began to sing, and Harry's jaw dropped. Hermione giggled softly as she gently pushed his chip up and closed his mouth.

When the hat finished its song, McGonagall began calling up students to be Sorted. The hat, apparently, was responsible for placing the students in their Houses. Harry found his attention drifting as the Sorting progressed. He looked up and saw the night sky on the ceiling.

He pulled his eyes away from the impressive piece of spell work when he heard Hermione's name called. The hat had no more than touched her head when it called out, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Greengrass, Daphne!" Harry finally knew the name of the girl from Madam Malkin's, and he was determined to learn more about her.

His musings were interrupted when he heard the hat yell, "SLYTHERIN!"

He saw Malfoy get his wish when he was sorted into Slytherin, and before long it was his turn to be Sorted.

"Potter, Harry!"

The hall erupted in whispers after Harry's name was called, but he was not surprised. He walked confidently to the stool and sat down gracefully as McGonagall placed the hat upon his head.

He was surprised to hear a voice in his ear. "Harry Potter." He thought he could detect a smile in the hat's voice. "You are a difficult one, aren't you?"

"What gives you that idea?" Harry asked, amused.

"You've a sharp mind, Mr. Potter; one of the three sharpest in this class, in fact. There's no shortage of courage in here, though you don't seem as reckless as most of the Lions. You've never experienced love, but will be terribly loyal to those you consider friends. But there's something more here. You have a lot of talent and desire. You want to prove yourself worthy of love. You wish to be great, perhaps the greatest. You have the ability to achieve that regardless of your House. But where shall I place you?"

"Place me where I'll do the best."

"You are truly unique, Mr. Potter. You have the cunning and ambition to strive in the House of the Snakes, but you thirst for knowledge and power. I suppose it had better be – RAVENCLAW!"


	4. Chapter 3

Severus Snape was a very confused man, and there was only one reason for it: Harry James Potter, the spawn of his boyhood nemesis. He wished he hated the child. Hatred was easy. He could deal with hatred, but his feelings regarding the boy were more complicated. He had tried for eleven years to hate the child of James Potter, but was unable to hate the child of Lily Evans, the only person to ever befriend him and the woman he still loved.

Though no one else realized it, save perhaps Dumbledore, Shape was incredibly nervous when the first years were ushered inside the castle for the Sorting. He had never seen the boy, and feared what would happen when they met. When he saw him walk into the Great Hall for the first time, his childhood resentment welled up in his chest. The dratted boy was an exact replica of his father.

Except for his eyes. He had the beautiful, emerald green eyes of Lily Evans. And that was his dilemma. He could not love the image of James Potter any more than he could hate the eyes of Lily Evans. Severus Snape was only alive because of his ability to mask his emotions and think quickly, but he could not, for the life of him, decide how to handle Harry Potter.

The boy being sorted into Ravenclaw only served to further complicate the matter. James Potter was a Gryffindor to the core, while Lily would have thrived in any of the Houses. The length of time it took the hat to Sort Potter suggested that he could have fit in more than one House as well. It would have been far easier to hate a to-the-core Gryffindor Golden Boy.

In the end, he decided that he could not bear to see the eyes of Lily Evans look up at him with malice. He would give the boy a chance, but he still had to prove himself.

His conflicting emotions crossed his face before he quickly replaced his mask when Harry Potter walked into his classroom for his first Potions lesson. Snape attempted to maintain his usual neutrality when dealing with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. While he polarized the Gryffindors and Slytherins, the other houses generally provided a middle ground that he neither hated nor favored.

He forced himself to resist the urge to insult Potter when he checked attendance, but he still had to test the boy. He gave his usual speech glorifying the art of Potions brewing, and began the questioning. "Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death, sir."

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"The stomach of a goat, sir."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is no difference, professor."

_Perhaps_, he thought, _he is more like Lily than his father_. "You are… correct, Mr. Potter." It was then that Severus Snape decided to ignore his striking resemblance to James Potter and treat him as the son of Lily Evans.

* * *

Things had fallen into a routine for Harry. He knew his way around the castle, and enjoyed most of his classes, aside from Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had expected Defense to be exciting, but it was terribly dull. His History of Magic class was not something he considered particularly exhilarating, but at least it was educational. Something was odd about Quirrell; he just was not sure what. The man appeared to be scared of his own shadow, but Harry could not help but be skeptical. His stutter seemed to be forced. Harry decided to keep a very close eye on the Defense professor.

He had trouble reading Snape. By all accounts, the man was a talented Potions Master, one of the best in the world, but the way he looked at Harry was a bit disconcerting. He was a competent teacher, Harry supposed, but he made him feel ill at ease. Why did Snape single him out on the first day of class? Harry initially believed that Snape was trying to set him up to fail, but the man had looked oddly pleased after Harry answered his questions.

Snape confused him, but his real worry was with Quirrell.

Professor Sprout was a pleasant woman, but Harry had did not care for Herbology. He did well in the class because his pride would not allow him to struggle, but he never took pleasure from his time in the greenhouses.

The always jovial Professor Flitwick was thrilled to have Harry in his house and took every opportunity to dote on him. He was quickly becoming the Charms Master's favorite student. Flitwick told Harry that his knack for Charms rivaled that of his mother, and Lily was one of the best students Flitwick had ever taught. Harry genuinely enjoyed the subject and professor.

Professor McGonagall had initially seemed to be bitter about Harry's Sorting, but had gotten over it when Harry had displayed his talent for Transfiguration. He and Hermione Granger always competed to complete their assignments first, and the Deputy Headmistress was thrilled to have two students excelling at her subject. While Harry preferred Charms, Transfiguration was one of his favorites.

Harry was disturbed by the news of a break-in at Gringotts, as he believed it had something to do with the school. Hagrid had emptied a vault on his birthday, the same day that an empty vault had been plundered by thieves. Harry had been curious about what Hagrid removed from the vault at the time, and felt his curiosity grow. He recalled Dumbledore's speech at the beginning of the year, when he had forbidden the students to enter the third floor corridor. It had seemed odd at the time, but Harry had not given it much thought. He decided to wait for another unusual occurrence.

His first flying lesson had been one of the best experiences of his life. The broom had responded to his every command, as if it were an extension of his being. The feeling of the air caressing his face as he flew through the sky was one of the best things he had ever experienced. Madam Hooch had commented that he was a natural on a broom, and had told him that he should try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team next year. Harry told her that he would consider it, but doubted he would try out. He loved flying, but did not want to waste time he could use for his studies.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, the first two months of the year had elapsed. He was the happiest he had ever been, and felt at home for the first time in his life. He and Hermione were competitive, but they were also best friends who spent nearly all their time together.

On the night of the Halloween Feast, Harry and Hermione were congratulating each other on their mutual success in charms class. They had both successfully cast the levitation charm on their first attempt

The students were enjoying the feast when Quirrell sprinted into the Great Hall, shouting about a troll in the dungeons before he fainted. Harry took a skeptical glance at the still form of Quirrell before turning to Hermione. "I'm not buying it. How about you, Hermione?'

"I'm afraid not. But it looks like Snape is keeping an eye on him." Harry looked at the Head Table and noticed that Snape was, indeed, hanging back with his eyes cast on Quirrell, while the other professors were rushing forward and ordering the students to return to their dormitories. Harry and Hermione stepped in line behind their Prefects and headed back to the Ravenclaw tower.

* * *

Daphne was not enjoying Hogwarts. She had discovered that none of the teachers were as capable as her grandmother, and she was near the top in all her classes. She had continued to read ahead in all of her subjects, as she saw no reason to move as slowly as the other students. There were only two students in here year who moved as quickly through the material as her.

Her biggest problem was Draco Malfoy. The boy was insufferable. He had, on more occasions than she cared to remember, attempted to befriend her and seemed reluctant to take "Bugger off," for an answer. She had made it quite clear that she was not interested in his companionship, but he persisted. He had only stopped after finding himself on the business end of her wand.

Malfoy had attempted to win over the House, but had only succeeded in earning two witless thugs in Crabbe and Goyle and a love struck puppy in Pansy Parkinson. His father's money carried some sway with most of the House, but the boy was a bit dim.

She realized that Malfoy had only stopped accosting her because she was better than him with a wand, so she put even more attention into her studies because she knew that it was advantageous to be more capable than him.

Part of the reason she was so disenchanted with Hogwarts was the loneliness. She had accepted long ago that she was destined to be alone, and had become a better person for it, but that did not make it any less painful. She was cold and distant with everyone, wearing a mask to keep others from seeing her emotions. Even her relationship with her sister had deteriorated. Because of her personality, or the personality she revealed to the school, nearly everyone in her House hated her. She could accept being hated by others, but she was afraid that she might hate herself.

* * *

The months blurred past, and the Christmas Holidays had arrived. Harry was extremely disappointed to see Hermione leave, but ordered her to have fun with her parents. Before she left for the train, she had handed Harry a gift and told him not to open it until Christmas morning. Harry had hugged her tightly before handing her a box wrapped in green and red paper.

Harry had been alone for a decade, but loneliness was more difficult to cope with now that he knew how it felt to have a friend. Harry went through the motions on the days leading up to Christmas, continuing to study, but all his actions were mechanical.

On Christmas morning, he awoke early to open his gift from Hermione. He removed the paper carefully, almost reverently. It was his first Christmas present; Hell, it was his first ever present. He assumed that his parents had given him gifts, but he did not remember any of them. It was a copy of _Achievements in Alchemy_, an advanced book on the subject which he had not been able to find in the Hogwarts library.

He stayed tucked in his bed with the curtains closed around him reading his book until it was time for breakfast. As he got out of bed, he noticed another gift lying on the floor. Who else would have gotten him a present? He looked at the note on top of the package and discovered that it had belonged to his father. The note was not signed. He examined the present, and saw that it was a cloak. He threw it over his pajamas and disappeared. Harry gaped as he realized that someone had sent him an invisibility cloak.

The rest of the day was agonizing for Harry. He had a plan for the night, and time was passing at an amazingly slow pace. After dinner, he returned to his dormitory and waited until he was sure everyone was asleep before throwing on his invisibility cloak and heading to the third floor.

He moved as cautiously and soundlessly as he could manage, ensuring he made it to the forbidden corridor without being heard. He had only one close encounter when he had spotted the caretaker Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris. He had stopped moving and waited for them to pass, but felt his heart beat quicken and sweat trickle down his brow when the old man had stopped moving. He had a sixth sense for detecting rule breaking. Harry had remained silent and still for what felt like hours until Filch decided to continue his rounds.

Harry made it to the corridor with no other interruptions. He eventually came to a locked door. The lock was simple enough to overcome, being no more complex than the charm Daphne had placed on her compartment door on the Express.

Harry stared at the floor, his pulse racing as he pushed the door open. Slowly, he raised his head taking in the details of the room. The first thing he noticed was a trap door covered by a massive paw. His head jerked up, and he caught the eye of a monstrous three-headed dog. Harry's heart caught in his throat as he slammed the door shut and began running. He had no idea where he was going, his only objective being to put as much distance as possible between himself and that _beast_.

He sprinted through room after room, up and down stairs, and through seemingly endless corridors, not coming to a stop until his lungs screamed for air. After he caught his breath, he examined his surroundings. It appeared to be an unused classroom, coated with years of dust. In one corner sat an ornately decorated, golden-framed mirror. There were words on the mirror written in a language he did not understand.

Exhausted from his run, he sat down in front of the mirror, discarding his invisibility cloak on the floor beside him. He peered into the mirror and saw his reflection, but he was not alone. He was surrounded by other people, but he only recognized two of them. His Uncle Vernon was patting him on the shoulder, a look of pride in his eyes, while his Aunt Petunia was gazing at him lovingly. Two others, a man who looked like an older version of Harry and a woman with dark red hair and emerald green eyes were staring at him longingly. His parents.

Harry had never felt as wanted or loved as he did when he looked at himself in the mirror. The hours flew by, and he could not even remember how long he had been sitting before the image of his family. He could have spent the rest of his life there, with people who loved him.

The sound of footsteps from behind caught his attention. He craned his neck and saw Daphne Greengrass enter the room, her usual sneer missing. "What do you see in the mirror, Potter?" she asked softly. Her eyes were looking past Harry into the mirror, and he could easily see a look of hunger on her face. It was the same look he knew currently graced his own face.

But it was something he had never expected to see on Daphne's face. He had not spoken to her since that day in Madam Malkin's, but he continued to be intrigued by her. He had known there was much more to her than she ever showed the rest of the school, and the look on her face confirmed it.

"I see… myself and people who love me. What about you, Greengrass?"

She chuckled mirthlessly and whispered, "We're not so different, Potter." Daphne walked out of the room fighting back the tears which threatened to escape her. She had been visiting her grandmother for the past month, and knew now that she could not go back. She had seen the look on Potter's face and realized the mirror was consuming him as she now knew it was consuming her. She had, of course, known that her obsession was unhealthy, but had not realized the potential damage until she saw the manic longing on Harry's face; a look she knew was mirrored on her own face.

A few minutes after her departure, Harry stood and threw his invisibility cloak over him, wanting nothing more than to return, but knowing he should not. The look on Daphne's face told him that much.

He slowly made his way back to the dorm, before collapsing onto his bed and letting oblivion embrace him.


	5. Chapter 4

Harry did not awaken until late the next morning. His dreams had been a continuation of what he witnessed in the mirror, and he had fought to remain asleep. The dream world of the mirror was much more pleasant than the real world. When he finally opened his eyes, he stared at the ceiling above his bed considering how things could have been if only his parents had not been murdered, if only his Aunt and Uncle had loved him as he loved them. How different would he be had he ever known any love?

* * *

The Christmas holidays came to an end, and things got back to normal at Hogwarts. The students, most notably two Ravenclaws and one Slytherin, increased their studying as they prepared for the looming exams.

Through all his preparation, two things remained on his mind: the three-headed dog and the mirror. He told Hermione about the dog, but would never tell a soul about the mirror or what he saw in it.

* * *

Days and weeks sped by, and the bitter cold of winter gave way to the pleasantness of spring.

Harry learned through the Hogwarts rumor mill that Hagrid had been placed on probation for owning a live dragon. Apparently, Dumbledore was the only thing keeping the distraught man out of Azkaban.

Hagrid had spent the better part of the year attempting to get Harry to visit him for tea, but had been unsuccessful. Hagrid was a nice enough man, but not much of a conversationalist. Nevertheless, Harry decided to pay the man a visit in an attempt to console him, and if he received any information, so much the better. The three-headed dog seemed to be a manifestation of Hagrid's fixation with dangerous beasts. Coupled with the withdrawal he had made from Gringotts, Harry had reason to believe that Hagrid knew a great deal about whatever was being hidden in the school. The dog was, quite clearly, standing atop a trapdoor and protecting whatever Hagrid removed from the vault.

Harry informed Hermione of his plan, and set off for Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forrest. He was surprised at how long it took him to reach his home. Hagrid opened the door on Harry's second knock. Tears cascaded down the large man's face as he wrapped his arms around Harry in a crushing embrace. Harry noticed that he looked more unkempt than usual; his hair was matted against his head and his eyes, glistening with tears, were bloodshot.

"Yeh heard abou' Norbert then, Harry?"

"Is there anything I can do, Hagrid?"

"Nah," he bawled, "Dumbledore's doin' all tha' he can. Great man, Dumbledore." Harry patted his shoulder awkwardly, and Hagrid began telling him stories about the baby dragon.

Harry stayed with Hagrid until dark, and the man was beginning to compose himself. He still looked a mess, but his sobs had become much less frequent

As Harry stood to leave, he attempted to catch the man off guard and decided to forgo subtlety, thinking it would be wasted on him. "Hagrid, what did you take from Gringotts on my birthday?"

"I can' tell yeh tha'. 'S none o' yer business."

"Whose business is it?"

"Professor Dumbledore's and Nicholas Flamel's, o' course."

Harry's eyes widened. He had read about Flamel in the book Hermione had given him for Christmas, and knew he was the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. He could not believe that Dumbledore would keep an item capable of sustaining eternal life in a school.

Harry thanked Hagrid for his hospitality and sprinted back to the school to tell Hermione what he had discovered.

* * *

Later that night, Harry sat restlessly on his bed with the curtains drawn around him, the revelations of the day preventing him from sleeping. He felt the need for comfort only loved ones could provide, and again mourned the fact that he had none. After he was sure everyone else was asleep, he pulled on his invisibility cloak and resolved to find the mirror again.

He had no idea where the mirror was located. His best option, he decided, was to head back to the third floor corridor and attempt to follow the same route he had when he was running from the dog. He silently made his way toward the forbidden corridor, again careful to avoid any of the castle's other inhabitants.

His heart began racing as he saw another person exit the corridor. Professor Quirrell walked briskly through the passageway and toward Harry, with a smirk Harry had never before observed on the man plastered on his face. Fortunately, he seemed to be distracted and did not notice Harry as he approached him. As he passed, Harry heard him say, "My Master, we will retrieve the Stone tomorrow night." The exaggerated stutter was conspicuously absent.

* * *

Early the next morning, Harry and Hermione were deep in conversation regarding what Harry had heard the night before.

"Harry, we have to tell Professor Flitwick," Hermione urged.

"Okay," Harry relented, "But I don't expect him to believe us."

"Professor Flitwick," Hermione yelled as they entered his office without knocking, "We need to tell you something."

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked politely.

"Professor Quirrell's going to steal the Philosopher's Stone!"

The Professor paled at the mention of the Stone. "You two never cease to amaze me. A credit to the House, both of you. I am most impressed you managed to find out about the Stone, but I assure you, it is quite safe. Professor Quirrell is a trusted member of the faculty."

Harry nodded resignedly. "Would it be possible for us to speak with Professor Dumbledore?"

"I'm afraid not, my boy. He was called away by the Minister, and is not expected back until much later."

"Thank you for your time, professor," they intoned, admitting defeat on this front, but refusing to let the matter rest.

As they left Flitwick's office, Harry looked at Hermione determinedly. "If they won't help us, we'll stop Quirrell by ourselves. Are you with me?"

"Always."

"We can't beat Quirrell in a fair fight, especially if his Master is who I believe he is," Harry said, rubbing his hand through his hair.

"There's no reason to fight fair, then," she said simply, and Harry grinned at her.

"Hermione, have you ever seen an invisibility cloak?"

* * *

Harry and Hermione had been waiting, under his invisibility cloak, in the forbidden corridor since early in the afternoon. They had taken a light lunch, both too nervous to eat much. They had both skipped their afternoon Herbology class, as they agreed stopping Quirrell was more important.

Their emotions had shifted several times throughout the stakeout. At first, it had been exhilarating. They were working together, with no other help, to stop the bad guy. After waiting for an hour, with nothing happening, the exhilaration had turned to boredom. They knew Quirrell would not be coming until night, but got there as early as they could to make sure there were no mistakes. As more time passed, the boredom changed to fear. They knew this was risky; they were facing a fully trained wizard who had tricked the entire castle, including Albus Dumbledore, into believing him to be an incompetent fool for an entire year. If anything went wrong, they would surely be killed.

After what felt like weeks, they finally heard noise coming from the front of the corridor. Quirrell, trailed by a levitated harp, stalked down the corridor in the direction of the room housing the three-headed dog. As Quirrell stopped to unlock the door, Harry and Hermione threw off the invisibility cloak and shouted, "_Stupefy_!" The two stunners hit Quirrell in the back before he was able to react, sending the man crashing headlong into the door.

Harry quickly moved forward and pointed his wand at the unconscious Defense professor. "_Incarcerous_!" he yelled, and thick ropes wrapped themselves around the man. He stepped forward and removed Quirrell's wand from his unmoving hand.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Go find Professor Snape. He's the only one who never trusted Quirrell."

Hermione pulled Harry into a quick embrace before sprinting down the corridor and to the dungeons to find the Potions Master.

Harry stood over the man after Hermione had left, and decided that he needed some answers. Using his foot, he rolled Quirrell onto his back and revived him. He sputtered as he regained consciousness.

"P…P…Potter? What's th… th… the meaning of this?"

"Drop the act, Quirrell. Why were you trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone?"

He growled as he realized he had been beaten, "Very well, Potter. You are too precocious for your own good."

"My own good, Professor? It seems you're the one tied up on the floor. You're going to answer a few questions for me."

"What makes you think I'll answer anything?"

"It's simple, really," Harry said, smirking, "You will answer my questions or die."

Quirrell laughed patronizingly. "You don't even know the curse, Potter."

Harry placed his wand in his pocket and stooped down next to the professor. He whispered directly into the man's ear, "_Avada Kedavra_."

Quirrell gasped, but remained defiant. "Mere words, boy. Say them all you like, but you'll accomplish nothing.

"For once, we are in agreement." Quirrell smirked, and Harry pointed his wand at the door to the room with the three-headed dog. "_Alohomora_!"

Quirrell's grin turned feral. "Going after the Stone yourself, are you Potter?"

"I shall ask once more: Why did you try to steal the Philosopher's Stone?"

Quirrell remained silent, and Harry grinned at him viciously. He slowly pushed the door open, and a loud growl emanated from the room. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Harry shouted, and the bound professor was lifted a foot off the ground. He screamed as Harry directed him through the door with his wand.

"I'll talk, Potter! I was taking the Stone for my Master, Lord Volde," Quirrell started, before bursting into flames as a vapor drifted out from his turban and disappeared.

Harry doused the burning man with water, but was far too late. Only ashes remained.

* * *

Severus Snape was a confused man. He was currently sprinting after Hermione Granger to the forbidden corridor, where she and Harry Potter had detained Professor Quirrell and prevented the theft of the Philosopher's Stone. He had never trusted the man, but the situation was a bizarre one. How did two students find out about the Stone?

He ran into the corridor just in time to witness the man burst into flames and a spirit depart from his body. He felt a sharp pain on his left forearm, and things clicked into place. Quirrell had been possessed by the Dark Lord, and was trying to steal the Stone to revive his Master. Snape had long suspected that Quirrell was trying to steal the Stone. He just had not known why.

Somehow, Potter had managed to stop him. Truthfully, the boy had grown on him throughout the course of the year. He was a talented brewer, and reminded Snape a great deal of Lily. He rushed forward to pull him away from the ashes of the former Defense Professor. "Mr. Potter, would you accompany me to the Headmaster's office? He has just returned from London."

* * *

Harry sat in front of the Headmaster's desk, and Dumbledore was staring at him, his eyes twinkling merrily. "My dear boy, I am incredibly proud of your actions this evening. Based on what Severus has told me, you managed to delay the return of Voldemort."

"Delay, sir?"

"Oh yes, I'm afraid so. Voldemort will return some day."

"I'm not surprised, really. Headmaster, what caused Quirrell to combust?"

"I believe that was the work of Voldemort. Quirrell was trying to betray him to save himself, so Voldemort severed their connection, destroying the poor man." Dumbledore paused. "I suppose you are quite tired, Harry. You are free to return to your dormitory."

Harry did not accept his dismissal. "I have more questions, sir. What will be done with the Stone?"

"It must be destroyed. It is far too powerful an object to allow Voldemort to obtain."

Harry nodded his head in agreement, and silently pondered whether he should confide in the wizened Headmaster. "Professor, earlier in the year I came across a rather extraordinary mirror." Harry struggled internally, debating on how much he should reveal. Dumbledore nodded his head for him to continue. "I saw my parents."

"The Mirror of Erised. You are quite correct Harry, it is indeed extraordinary. It shows us the deepest desire of the heart."

"Would it be possible," Harry began, suddenly feeling very small, "For me to see it again?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry. I was forced to move it after discovering that another student had been ensnared by its allure."

"Is she alright?" he asked, thinking of a Slytherin with vulnerable blue eyes.

"The mirror was removed before it could do any lasting damage. I must ask you not to search for it. Our desires are important, but we mustn't let them consume us."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass sat by herself at the Leaving Feast. She was the ultimate pariah, avoided by everyone. And she would not have it any other way. The exams were over, and she had done well, not that there was ever any doubt. The only students to match her marks were Granger and Potter.

Harry Potter. She still was not sure how she felt about the boy, but was disgusted that he had seen her so vulnerable, so disgustingly helpless. She had tried to avoid the mirror, but was too weak. She had been able to resist its call for nearly three weeks after she had encountered Potter, but felt the pull growing stronger by the day. She had returned, only to be greeted by Dumbledore, with that damnable twinkle in his eye. He had hidden the mirror, and she had been unable to find it again.

If the rumors were to be believed, Potter had rescued Granger by killing Quirrell in a duel. Of course, Daphne did not put much stock in the Hogwarts rumor mill. She knew Potter had saved the day somehow, but did not know what he had done. The massive amount of points awarded to Ravenclaw on the day after Quirrell disappeared suggested that Potter had done something to oust Quirrell, but the rumor seemed too farfetched.

* * *

The train ride back to London went smoothly. Harry and Hermione shared a compartment on the train, and no one tried to force their company upon them. The two boys he had humiliated during the train ride to Hogwarts had made a point to avoid him throughout the school year. For that, he was thankful

Harry had said goodbye to Daphne. She grudgingly repeated the sentiment, but Harry noticed that her frown lessened when he spoke to her, and her eyes seemed less distant. He was determined to have a proper conversation with her next year.

* * *

Harry hugged Hermione tightly before meeting Uncle Vernon. The man seemed distinctly uncomfortable with being in the presence of so many wizards, but he kept his opinion to himself. He greeted Harry with cool indifference. _Some things_, Harry thought, _never change_.


	6. Chapter 5

Summer did not suit Harry Potter. He had spent the past nine months at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, learning magic. He had devoted nearly all his time to his studies during the school year, but was not allowed to use magic over the summer; at least, not in the middle of a Muggle town. Most school children were thrilled to have time away from their studies, but Harry Potter was bored. He had nearly memorized all his first year spellbooks, and had not received a list of the ones he needed to purchase for second year. In short, there was very little for him to do.

He spent most of his days wandering through Privet Drive. He had lived most of his life in Little Whinging, but had never really explored his neighborhood. For most of his first eleven years, he had worked to be the best in his primary school, but had lost his interest in the Muggle World after one year at Hogwarts.

He was able to get lost in his mind during his daily explorations. He discovered a small park, where he could sit lazily on a swing and think about his time at Hogwarts. After his adventure at the end of the year, most of the students started to think of him as powerful. Truthfully, he reveled in the respect, but knew it was not entirely earned. He was not as powerful as they believed. Not yet.

Perhaps the worst part of summer was the lack of post. He had not expected many people to write to him, but had hoped to see letters from Hermione. She had, after all, promised to write every day. He had written to her daily for the first week of the holidays, but his letters had gone unanswered. He had not yet received a single thing.

His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were the same as always, but his Cousin Dudley had gone out of his way to avoid him. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen him this summer. Apparently, Dudley did not support the prospect of training Harry to better defend himself.

Harry awoke early on the morning of his birthday. He did not expect the day to be anything other than normal, but had trouble staying asleep regardless. He supposed it was only natural for a twelve-year-old to be excited about his birthday.

He took breakfast with his relatives, and was not surprised when they failed to even speak to him. Dudley avoided making eye contact with him, apparently working under the assumption that looking into his eyes would prove to be fatal, and rushed away from the table after finishing his meal.

Harry could not help but wonder what today would have been like had his parents not been murdered. In his mind, he saw images of a cake and presents stacked high on a table. He imagined the warm embrace of his mother and his father patting him on the back in pride.

His reverie was interrupted by the telephone's ring. Uncle Vernon rose from the table grumbling something under his breath about salesmen. "Dursley residence," he said, forgoing any pleasantries. Vernon's face showed his confusion at their response. He pointed at Harry. "For you," he said gruffly.

Harry rose to his feet and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Happy birthday, Harry!" He recognized the voice immediately. "It's Hermione. I found your relatives' phone number in the White Pages. Where have you been? Why did you stop writing me back?" she asked, going into rapid fire question mode. It was something she often practiced in class.

Harry chuckled softly at his best friend's enthusiasm. "Thanks, Hermione. I've been here at Privet Drive all summer. I stopped writing after a week when you hadn't sent me anything."

Hermione paused before answering, "But I have been writing you, Harry. Every day."

"I haven't gotten any post since I came back to Privet Drive."

"Someone must be intercepting everything. I sent you a copy of _Charms for the Contemporary Duelist_, but I doubt you'll get it now," she said, suddenly upset.

"It's alright, Hermione. It's not your fault," he admonished.

The conversation became more pleasant after that, and they spent the next few minutes talking about their holidays, until Harry saw that his Uncle was waiting impatiently for him to finish. "Hermione, is there a way for me to get to Diagon Alley? My relatives don't have a Floo connection."

"Well, you could take the Knight Bus. I read about it in the package they give to all the Muggleborns. You just need to hold your wand in the air to call for it."

"Alright." Harry took another look at his Uncle who had begun tapping his foot. "I'm glad you called, Hermione, but I've got to go."

"Okay. Call me sometime, Harry. Goodbye."

"Bye, Hermione."

After ending his call with Hermione, Harry decided to take a walk around the neighborhood to clear his head. The idea of someone stealing his post frustrated him more than he cared to admit.

As he moved toward the swing he had been frequenting this summer, he heard someone hissing at him, seemingly from the ground. "_Get out of my way, human._"

Harry turned around, trying to find the person who spoke. He looked down, and saw a small, green snake slithering over the grass. "_Are you speaking to me, little one?_" he asked curiously.

The snake paused and raised its head, looking almost perplexed. "_You speak the language of the serpents?_"

Harry considered this for a moment before coming to his conclusion, "_Well, I am talking with you now_," he reasoned, "_So yes, I suppose I do. Is that unusual?_"

"_Very. You are the first Speaker I have encountered._" Harry's eyebrows rose as he contemplated the implications. This was another rare talent he possessed, and he decided to do some research on it when he returned to Hogwarts. Was it possible that he truly was worthy of pride and respect? And someday, perhaps, even love? "_You will be great, young human._"

* * *

Harry walked back to his Aunt and Uncle's home in the afternoon, with the snake's words still reverberating in his head. It was the first time he could recall being told that he was on his way to greatness. He was often praised for his work, but he had never before been given such an assurance. He was thrilled by the reptile's faith in him.

As he stepped over the threshold and into Number Four, his Uncle addressed him, "Harry, we need you out of the house tonight. Your Aunt and I are entertaining some potential clients, and they don't know about your-" he hesitated, "condition."

"Could I not stay in my room for the evening?"

"Well, yes, I suppose you could, but you've already skipped lunch. We're paid to keep you fed, and we've always held up our end of the bargain. Take this," Vernon handed him a ten pound note, "and find something to eat. There's a pub a few streets over."

Harry could not help but be upset with his Uncle. The man had almost seemed concerned for his wellbeing, until he had admitted that he was just honoring his part of a business transaction. Harry made for the door, wand in hand, ready to flag down the Knight Bus for a trip to London.

* * *

Harry emerged from the bus, slightly worse for wear after the nausea inducing journey, and walked into the Leaky Cauldron. He recognized the barman from his previous trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, and the barman obviously reciprocated his recognition. "Harry Potter," he said, looking up from the glass he had been rubbing with a rag.

"Evening, Tom."

"What brings you here tonight, Mr. Potter?"

"I need some dinner and a room for the night." Harry did not particularly want to see the Dursleys again tonight. Besides, he would be free to practice magic in a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He had done a great deal of reading on the enforcement of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. As he understood it, the Ministry did not monitor individuals, but areas, and left it up for magical parents to enforce the law. A room in the inn would not be under such supervision.

* * *

Harry found the shepherd's pie he had for dinner to be very satisfying. It was easily the best meal he had taken since the end of term at Hogwarts. His relatives always provided him with enough to eat, but his Aunt was not a talented cook. The food was always there, but it lacked in flavor.

He decided to make the most of his night away from Privet Drive and explore Diagon Alley without the presence of an observer. He found himself mesmerized by the Alley after dark. Cascades of magnified candlelight from shop windows illuminated the cobblestones in an almost ethereal glow. Passing witches and wizards cast shadows in the light from the storefronts and the crescent moon overhead. The white marble walls of Gringotts seemed to shine in the dark.

The exuberant crowds that graced the Alley during the day were replaced by cloaked individuals who rushed past each other and did not exchange pleasantries. As Harry approached a seedier looking Alley that connected with Diagon, he heard the drawl of someone walking behind him, "Heading for Knockturn, eh Potter? What could the Golden Boy be looking for in there?" Harry turned to see the sneering face of Draco Malfoy. So, _this _was Knockturn Alley. He had expected it to look more… evil, but this was just shabby.

"What's the matter, Draco? Won't daddy let you shop at Borgin and Burkes yet?"

"For your information, Potter, my father purchased me a rather exquisite piece from Mr. Borgin earlier this week."

"I'm glad to see he's getting you started in the Dark Arts at a young age. Does he ever let you wear his old Death Eater mask?"

Draco scowled and reached for his wand. "At least I don't live with a pair of common Muggles. They should be put down, the lot of them."

Harry reached for his wand, not in anger at Draco's remark about his relatives, for he was too upset with the Dursleys to defend their honor, but in response to Draco drawing his own. He pointed at the other boy's wand. "Put that away, Malfoy, before you hurt yourself."

Draco's face contorted in rage and he leveled his wand at Harry's chest. He lowered it almost immediately as another voice drawled, in a fashion that Harry found to be eerily similar to Draco's, "Now, now, Draco. It would be unwise to be seen attacking our… Saviour."

"Yes, father," he said as he stowed his wand.

The elder Malfoy addressed Harry, "My apologies, Mr. Potter." His gaze shifted to Draco, "My son seems to have forgotten his station."

Harry nodded at the older man, and he grabbed his son's shoulder roughly and led him into Knockturn Alley.

* * *

Harry was quite contented when he retired for the evening. He had purchased a book on advanced Charms from Flourish and Blotts and a delectable sundae from Fortescue's. He sat on the bed in his room at the Leaky Cauldron reading through his new book, and preparing to try some of the spells. A loud cracking sound from the foot of his bed caught his attention. He looked up from the text and saw a… house elf?

"Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is glad to be finding you."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more curious than alarmed.

"Harry Potter sir is a great wizard, and must not be getting hurt. Dobby is here to be warning you."

His curiosity piqued, he asked, "Warning me about what?"

Dobby looked remorseful. "Harry Potter must not be returning to Hogwarts."

"Why shouldn't I return to Hogwarts, Dobby?"

"Dobby cannot say. Harry Potter must be trusting Dobby that Hogwarts will be too dangerous this year."

"I do trust you, Dobby. In fact, I'd be surprised if nothing dangerous happened, especially with Voldemort trying to return. But I have to go back."

Dobby appeared to be on the verge of tears, "No, Harry Potter, sir-"

"I have to learn how to defend myself and my friends, Dobby," he interrupted. "I can learn the most at Hogwarts."

"Harry Potter is great to be protecting friends who do not write to him."

"Ah," Harry said as something fell into place. "It was you. Give me the letters, Dobby."

Dobby pulled a stack of letters and a package from his pillowcase. "Does Harry Potter agree not to be returning to Hogwarts?"

Harry pointed his wand at the stack of parchment. "_Accio_." The letters and package he assumed to be the book Hermione had sent him for his birthday zoomed into his outstretched hands. "I'm going back to Hogwarts, Dobby."

A sad smile crossed the elf's face, "Dobby will be stopping you," he said simply. With another cracking sound, he disappeared.

* * *

Daphne loved the summer, because it allowed her to be alone, wholly and unequivocally alone. She was usually alone at school, but in her bedroom at home, with the door tightly locked, she did not have to worry about the presence of anyone else. She was free from the playacting of Draco Malfoy and the love-struck simpering of Pansy Parkinson

She was able to continue practicing magic over the summer. Her parents did not know she was doing it, and probably would have been disinclined to say anything about it if they had known. It was one of the few perks of living with disinterested parents.

Her annual shopping trip to Diagon Alley occurred near the end of the summer, when she finally received her booklist. She flooed into the Leaky Cauldron by herself; she supposed that her sister would ask to accompany her next year, but she would deal with that problem when the time came. Her father had given her just enough money to purchase her supplies. She did not have to make secondhand purchases, but could not afford anything superfluous.

Her first stop would be the bookstore, but not because she was looking forward to the trip. On the contrary, she felt compelled to get it over with if she was to have any chance at enjoying the rest of her day. Gilderoy Lockhart, fraudulent author extraordinaire, was having a book signing, and she was required to purchase everything the man had ever written for Defense Against the Dark Arts. When she first looked at the booklist, her hopes for a satisfactory year in Defense were squashed; no competent instructor would assign anything written by Lockhart.

She briefly considered hexing the people who were waiting in line to get their books autographed. If they were obtuse enough to believe that Lockhart was anything more than a pretty face, they would not put up much of a fight. She wondered how they would react to seeing their hero apparate away with his tail between his legs.

The man behind the counter was shooting Lockhart the occasional reproachful glare. He did not appreciate that his shop was even selling the man's books, let alone providing him with a venue to smile for the cameras. Daphne decided to place her order with him, rather than dealing with any of Lockhart's sycophants.

As the man was finding her books, she noticed a commotion breaking out in the front of the store. Two men, she recognized one of them as Lucius Malfoy, had apparently forgotten they were wizards and were exchanging blows with their fists. A gaggle of redheaded children surrounded the other man, seemingly shouting their encouragement, though she could not make out what they were saying because of the noise within the shop. She recognized some of the children and guessed that the man fighting Lucius must be the Weasley patriarch.

When the men were separated, Lucius sneered at the other man, and picked the books out of the Weasley daughter's cauldron. He stared at them in disgust and said something to the Weasleys with the smirk still on his face. He threw the books back in the cauldron, but he attempted to conceal something. Daphne noticed that he had added another, nondescript old book to the stack. It did not appear to be anything dark, but was probably potentially embarrassing for the Weasleys. She decided not to say anything about the book; she saw no reason to help the Weasleys. The twins were notorious pranksters who terrorized Slytherin House, and the younger son was not a pleasant individual. Besides, she did not want to make an enemy of Lucius Malfoy if she could avoid it. She would keep her eyes out for the book at Hogwarts, but would not tell the girl about it.

She paid for her books, and was grateful to leave the shop. She quickened her pace and looked down at the ground as she passed the Weasleys and Malfoys, avoiding eye contact with all of them. She did not even notice a boy entering the store until she collided with him. She felt herself teeter and began to fall backward. Moments before her arse hit the floor, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and stabilized her. She glared and prepared to berate the person who had been so careless, until she looked up and saw who it was. Harry Potter. She had been thinking about Harry Potter, thinking about him a lot, actually. But there was no reason to let him know that. "You can let go of me now, Potter."

Harry blushed, and lowered his arms from her waist, before deftly attempting to change the subject. "Good holiday, Greengrass?" He would prefer to call her Daphne, but that could wait until she stopped calling him Potter.

"Until you ran into me." She tried to look angry, but her voice lacked venom.

"That hurts," he said in mock indignation as he clutched his chest.

Daphne was barely able to conceal a grin. "It'll hurt more when I hex you for running into me."

"You wouldn't hex a friend," he said confidently.

Daphne considered that for a moment. The part of her that desperately wanted to agree with him was outspoken by the part that had decided to never have any friends. "You may be right about that. But I'd definitely hex you, Potter."

Harry chuckled as he walked into Flourish and Blotts. "Whatever you say, Greengrass. Whatever you say."


	7. Chapter 6

Harry arrived at King's Cross Station with time to spare. His Uncle had discovered the Knight Bus, and refused to provide him with transportation, knowing that his nephew could get there on his own. Harry did not particularly mind; it merely served as another reminder that his relatives did not give a damn about him. As he approached his platform, he spotted the familiar black tresses of Daphne Greengrass walking in front of him. "Hey, Greengrass," he called.

She, of course, recognized the voice immediately. Struggling to maintain a stoic expression, she turned around to greet him. "You seem to have a talent for finding yourself in the same place as me, Potter." She remained still as Harry walked toward her.

He smirked, "Well, you see, there's a train here that a few of us are meant to catch. If I'm not mistaken, both of us are among that group, so it stands to reason we'd be in the same place."

Daphne scowled at him, "A Ravenclaw's attempt at wit?"

He attempted to look innocent. "Wit? Me? I think not." He caught up with her and they began walking toward the platform side by side.

"Ladies first," Harry said, gesturing for her to walk through the barrier.

She raised an eyebrow. "After you, then."

Harry grinned briefly before heading toward the barrier at a brisk pace. He sped up as he neared the illusionary brick wall, trying to pass through it as quickly as possible. Even after a year in the magical world, the prospect of walking through a seemingly solid wall was not alluring.

_Crash!_

Harry's trolley collided with the non-illusionary, entirely corporeal brick wall, and he was knocked backward. The absurdity of the situation caused him to grin as he was falling. He imagined trying to explain this situation to a Muggle. _I fell because I walked into a wall. Don't look at me like that! The wall was supposed to be an illusion._ He braced himself for impact, but was caught, at the last moment, by a pair of small arms.

He grinned and waited a moment before saying, "Thanks, Greengrass, but you can let go now."

She complied immediately, and he turned around in time to see her shrug. He heard her mutter something that sounded like, "Should've let him fall."

"Why do you reckon it wouldn't let me through?"

"Maybe you were expelled for being such a git," she mused as she approached the barrier. She reached out one hand and felt the solid brick and mortar. "Someone's sealed the platform. This is an impressive piece of spellwork."

* * *

Neither of them noticed the two approaching Gryffindors. "Oi! Greengrass says someone sealed the platform," yelled Ron Weasley as he approached the barrier, Seamus Finnigan trailing behind him.

"She's a Slytherin, mate. She's lying," the Irishman responded.

"Only one way to find out, eh Seamus?"

Seamus shrugged noncommittally, but Ron had already started sprinting toward the wall. Harry began to wonder how he had looked when he had collided with the barrier, but was interrupted from his thoughts by the sickening crunch of metal hitting brick. He looked down and saw Ron Weasley doubled up on the ground, clutching his stomach where the steel handle of his trolley had imprinted itself. Seamus laughed uproariously while Daphne looked on with distaste.

After a few moments, Ron was able to stand. "Where's the rest of your brood, Weasley?" asked Daphne.

"Already," he gasped out with a ragged breath, "On the platform."

"How're we going to get on there, mate?" asked Seamus.

Ron's pained face brightened. "We'll take the car. Mum and dad can apparate home."

Seamus' eyes widened. "Have you ever flown it?"

"Nah. How hard can it be?" He looked at Harry and Daphne. "Either of you fancy a ride in a flying car?"

"What do you think, Harry?" Daphne asked, looking mischievous.

Harry was momentarily taken aback by the use of his first name, but decided to play along. "That doesn't seem like a terribly foolish idea at all. Want to try it, Daphne?"

Daphne had a look of false excitement plastered on her face. "We'll do it," her eyes hardened, "When Voldemort comes back and starts asking people to call him Keisha. You can't possibly be thick enough to fly an enchanted car all the way to Scotland," she said, her voice laced with genuine disbelief.

Ron's face reddened and he grumbled something about "showing them" and "being a real Gryffindor." He turned to Seamus and asked, "Are you with me, mate?"

"You can count me in." The two of them nodded their heads defiantly as they strode out of the station.

* * *

Harry and Daphne walked to the other end of the station to find an empty bench. After both of them were seated, Harry said, "I suppose I should send a message to Dumbledore."

She smiled a genuine smile for the first time in Harry's presence. "Either that or enchant a lorry. If we hurry, we can still catch Weasley. "

Harry laughed as he found a scrap of parchment and quill, and began to write.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_Your assistance is required at King's Cross Station. The barrier to Platform 9 ¾ has been sealed, preventing us from boarding the Express. _

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter & Daphne Greengrass_

_P.S. Look out for Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan. They plan to make an impressive entrance._

Harry read the letter again before giving it to Hedwig. He turned his head to look at Daphne who was sitting beside him on the bench.

"Don't get too used to my company, Potter." Harry could not tell if she was joking.

"You called me Harry. When Ron and Seamus were here," he said, wondering if it had been a slip of the tongue.

"Of course I did. Calling you 'Potter' in front of them would have put you on the same level. It would have suggested that I hold you in the same regard as them. I don't."

"You don't?" he asked, hating that the answer to such a simple question had the potential to hurt him so much.

"No," she said sincerely, with her eyes softening, "Not even close."

He smirked. "That's a relief," he joked, trying to mask how relieved he really was at her reassurance.

She smiled. "You should know," she said, "That my company is not cheap. It's going to cost you."

Harry returned her smile, truly grateful for the pleasant conversation. "Name your price, milady."

"How about a story?"

"Any story in particular?"

Her smile turned coy. "The story of what happened between you and Quirrell last year, I think. Yes, that would do nicely."

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair- he had not told anyone about this since he had spoken to Dumbledore. "Have you ever heard of the Philosopher's Stone?"

He spent the next few minutes recounting his adventure from the previous year, telling her the unembellished truth. Daphne was a very good listener. She was attentive, and asked questions at the correct times. Harry was glad to have finally shared his story with a peer.

* * *

As Harry told her of his exploits, neither of them noticed as scores of young witches and wizards successfully passed through the barrier. By the time he was finished, the train had departed and they were the only ones left waiting.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore arrived at King's Cross Station with a loud _pop_, and strode purposefully toward two of his students. He had cast several Muggle repelling charms on himself before he apparated to the station; he had been told several times that he was incapable of blending in with the non-magical population, and saw no reason to attract any unnecessary attention to the situation.

He had already examined the barrier, and had been able to pass through it, though he had been able to detect a magical disturbance of some sort. He knew that all the other students had successfully boarded the train, excepting Harry, Daphne, and two second year Gryffindors.

He had a theory concerning the magic surrounding the barrier, and his theories usually proved to be correct.

"Harry, my boy," he said smiling jovially, "And Miss Greengrass. It's a pleasure to see you both."

"Headmaster," they intoned.

"I believe I know what the problem is. If you'll both follow me," he paused, and allowed them to gather their belongings before walking to the barrier, "We can get to the bottom of this. Harry, would you please stand behind me?" Harry nodded his head, and moved behind his Headmaster. Dumbledore extended his arm, and reached out to touch solid brick. "It is as I suspected. The gate is sealed only when you are nearby, my boy."

"Can you fix it?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled sagely as he waved his wand at the barrier in an intricate pattern. A stream of blue light emitted from the tip, and Dumbledore lowered his arm. "It was a very nice bit of magic- cast by a house elf, I believe."

_So, that bloody elf is actually trying to keep me away from Hogwarts, _Harry thought. _Insane, that one._

Dumbledore ushered both of them onto the platform, where Harry immediately noticed the absence of the scarlet steam engine. "Professor, when did the train leave?"

"The train has been gone for quite some time, Harry. I shall be bringing you both to Hogwarts, myself."

"Are we going to be side-along apparating, sir?" asked Daphne, somewhat apprehensively.

Dumbledore chuckled, "Indeed. If you'll each grab my arm," he said, extending his left arm.

Harry and Daphne shared a look, before he grabbed the old man's arm and disappeared from the platform with a harsh _pop_.


	8. Chapter 7

Apparition, Harry decided, was something he needed to learn. The sensation of being squeezed through a tube was far from pleasant, but it was certainly a useful skill. Harry chuckled as he imagined how the Dursleys would react if he apparated directly into their living room. He suspected that at least one of them would faint, and his money was on it being Dudley. On top of using apparition to frighten his relatives, the ability to travel long distances instantaneously was incredibly convenient. The Knight Bus always made him queasy.

Dumbledore apparated Harry and Daphne to the front gates, since apparition inside the grounds was not possible. The school house elves had already taken their trunks to their respective dormitories. When they arrived, the sun was still high overhead, and the Hogwarts Express would not get there for hours. They were the only students at Hogwarts.

Professor Dumbledore led the way to the castle. As Harry fell in line behind him, Daphne grabbed him by the arm and held him back. "Will you do me a favor, Potter?" she whispered.

Harry took one look at her pleading blue eyes, and felt compelled to help her. He nodded his head, asking, "What do you need, Greengrass?"

"When we get back to the castle, I need you to keep Dumbledore occupied. There's something in the castle," she paused, thinking about the Mirror of Erised, "Something I need to find. I won't be able to do that with him watching over me."

He sighed, knowing exactly what Daphne planned on finding, before nodding again. "I can do that. But Greengrass?"

"What?"

"Be careful, yeah?"

She smirked. "Always."

Daphne lagged behind Harry as they followed Dumbledore inside the castle.

Dumbledore looked at his students and smiled knowingly. "Harry, would you accompany me to my office?" he asked.

Harry nodded his head and followed the Headmaster. When they arrived at the gargoyle, Harry turned his head and noticed that Daphne had left the group at some point during the walk.

Harry took a seat in front of Dumbledore's desk. He inspected the room, and was impressed with all the delicate looking magical instruments. He noticed a magnificent bird perched near the desk. "How long have you had a phoenix?"

"One does not own a phoenix, Harry. I have enjoyed Fawkes' company since I was a young man." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he looked down at him, before taking a seat himself. "Did Miss Greengrass specify how long you were to keep me occupied?"

Harry's eyes widened, and he stammered, "Sir, I don't know-"

"Of course you do, my dear boy, though I am curious about one aspect of your plan. How had you planned to keep me distracted?"

"Well, I," he began, "I was going to make it up as I went along. I probably would have asked you some questions about yourself, perhaps about Nicholas Flamel or Grindelwald."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Simply ingenious, Harry. Relying on my tendency to be rather verbose may, indeed, have worked."

"Sir, how did you know what we had planned?"

He hesitated for a moment, considering how forthcoming he should be with the young man who sat before him. "Harry, what do you know of legilimency?"

"I've seen it mentioned in several texts, but none of them detailed it."

"Legilimency allows a wizard to view the thoughts of another wizard."

Harry was startled, and somewhat angry at the invasion of privacy. "You read my mind, sir?" he asked, clenching his fists.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Heavens no. Reading the mind is, technically, impossible. A legilimens can invade the mind of another wizard, but the process is far more complex than, say, reading a book. A more powerful legilimens can sometimes, inadvertently, see the surface thoughts of another person when they are, for one reason or another, entirely focused on a single issue. You and Miss Greengrass have been thinking of little other than this plot since we arrived at the castle."

Harry's anger dissipated after hearing the explanation. "Sir, may I ask you a few questions about that?"

"Certainly."

"If you knew about our plan all along, why did you allow Daphne to search for the Mirror of Erised?"

"Because I have every confidence she will find it."

This confused him. "You said that it was moved last year, because it had ensnared another student."

"Indeed I did. It was moved back after the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone. I fear it was a mistake to remove it in the first place."

"Why is that?"

"There are some problems we must solve for ourselves, Harry. I did Miss Greengrass a disservice by removing the Mirror last year."

Harry supposed he understood that. He had often wished for someone to help him through his troubles, but knew that being sheltered would have made him weak. Still, he was worried. "Will she be alright?"

Dumbledore sighed. "If she is able to come to terms with what she has lost and what she has to gain, then yes. If not, she will be haunted by what she sees in the Mirror."

Harry frowned. "Can I help?"

The smile returned to the old man's face. "If anyone can help her, it will be you."

"I only hope she'll let me." Harry looked down in contemplation, the earlier discussion about legilimency still on his mind. "Professor, is there a way to keep a legilimens out of your mind?"

"Indeed. Defense of the mind is an art known as occlumency."

"Is occlumency taught at Hogwarts?"

"It is not. However, if ever the need arises for you to learn the art, you will be given lessons." Dumbledore paused. "Well, I see no reason to let Miss Greengrass know that there was a hitch in the plan. You may ask your questions."

Harry considered this for a moment. Dumbledore, a man known to hold his cards close to his chest, had given him permission to ask questions about his life, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Harry wanted to know more about occlumency, but was unwilling to let the opportunity pass. "How did you become friends with Nicholas Flamel?"

Dumbledore beamed. He loved discussing this particular subject. "I met Nicholas during my sixth year at Hogwarts. We corresponded regularly, and he was sufficiently impressed with my NEWT scores to offer me an apprenticeship a few years later."

"I didn't realize he had taken any apprentices."

"I was his first in over two centuries, and he has not taken any since. When I met Nicholas, I was talented, but inexperienced. Brilliant, but young and woefully unsure of what to do with my ability. Nicholas was the finest teacher I ever had."

"What did he teach you?"

"Alchemy was, of course, his specialty. I became competent at the subject, but never matched his ability. He recognized that my real talent was with a wand, and taught me everything he knew."

"Was he especially good with a wand?" Harry asked. He had not read anything about Flamel being a talented spellcaster.

"Few could match him. He was not as powerful as some, but had centuries of experience. We dueled when I first became his apprentice, and I found it to be a humbling exercise. My raw power was not enough to match his lifetime of practice. I worked with Nicholas for years, until I finally surpassed him. The first time I defeated him in a duel, I expected him to be upset, but I had never seen him more pleased."

"Was he training you to defeat Grindelwald?"

"Not specifically. Nicholas' age left him out of touch with the wizarding world, and he had not been directly involved in a war in over two centuries. Most people seemed to think that I would eventually confront Gellert, but Nicholas either did not know or did not care. He trained me to the best of his ability, and allowed me to do what I wished with the knowledge he imparted."

"Gellert, sir?"

Dumbledore's smile faded. "Gellert Grindelwald, Harry. My history with Gellert is somewhat complicated."

"Might I hear it? That is, if it's not too personal."

"I suppose it would not hurt to tell you the tale. It is, by no means, a secret, but few people have ever asked. I was a young man when I first met Gellert Grindelwald. I was the head of my family, and bitter at the burden. He was a brilliant young exile who challenged me intellectually. Naturally, we became the best of friends."

Harry shook his head. "Grindelwald was your best mate?"

"Indeed, but it was not to last. I am ashamed to admit it, but at the time, we shared the same goals, though I never approved of his methods. Our friendship ended violently and abruptly. Shortly after that, I began my apprenticeship and did not see Gellert again until our duel."

"I've heard that it was one of the greatest duels ever. Could I trouble you to tell me about it?"

Dumbledore looked contemplative. "No, I do not believe that hearing of it does it justice." Harry frowned. "You may, however, watch it. Have you ever witnessed a Pensieve memory?" Harry shook his head to indicate that he had not. "No time like the present," Dumbledore said, as he raised his wand to his temple, and removed a silvery thread from his mind. He deposited the memory in a small bowl he had placed on his desk. "Lower your head into the Pensieve, Harry." Harry did as he was instructed, and felt himself fall into the basin. Dumbledore did not follow him.

* * *

Harry inspected his surroundings closely. He was standing in the middle of an almost deserted cobblestone street in some Eastern European town. Scores of onlookers had stationed themselves in front of upper-level windows inside the houses and businesses surrounding the alley.

In the middle of the street, two obviously powerful men were facing each other. One of them, an auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore, had his wand held loosely at his side, and was looking forlornly at the other. The fair-haired Gellert Grindelwald had not yet drawn his own wand, and stared at Dumbledore pleadingly.

"You do not have to do this, Albus. Join me, and we shall be unstoppable," Grindelwald whispered.

"I cannot do that, Gellert, but it is not too late for you. Abandon your path- I will help you," Dumbledore answered, also at a whisper.

Grindelwald slowly withdrew his own wand, though he did not point it at Dumbledore. "How did it come to this, dear friend?"

"Perhaps, if our prior confrontation had not ended so tragically-"

"One of my few actual regrets. I am truly sorry about your sister." Grindelwald did, indeed, look remorseful.

"I do not even know who cast the curse. It would be easy enough to determine, but I cannot bring myself to do it."

"The blame is mine, Albus. Regardless of who cast the curse that killed her, I started the whole messy affair. Can you forgive me?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "You are forgiven, my friend."

"It appears that this can be delayed no further." Grindelwald raised his wand, and bowed in respect to both the power of the man in front of him, and the friendship they had once shared.

"You are, as is so often the case, correct." Dumbledore raised his own wand, and bowed for the same reasons Grindelwald had.

"I do wonder how this duel will turn out. You, with years of tutelage under Nicholas Flamel-" he began

"And you, master of the Elder Wand-" Dumbledore interrupted.

"Locked in combat." Grindelwald finished verbalizing the thought. He almost laughed at the synchronization of their thoughts, even after so many years…

Both men looked regretful as they began exchanging spells. A thin stream of golden light emitted from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, but was parried by Grindelwald, who returned fire immediately. A purple vortex erupted from Grindelwald's wand and appeared to consume Dumbledore, but the auburn-haired wizard had already disappeared.

Grindelwald turned and dove to his left, his wand already moving with his next curse, narrowly avoiding a beam of red light. Dumbledore gracefully sidestepped the return fire, avoiding the curse with practiced ease.

Grindelwald quickly regained his footing and cast a shimmering blue shield which absorbed Dumbledore's onslaught. He cast a Reductor that missed to Grindelwald's right, and pulverized the front of an apothecary. Dumbledore quickly repositioned himself so that Grindelwald turned his back on the wreckage.

Grindelwald strained his ears, but was unable to hear his opponent utter, "_Accio!_" He realized Dumbledore's plan a second too late. When the half ton of brick and mortar collided with his back, he knew that his old friend's Reductor had struck its target cleanly. He should have known that Albus would not miss his mark by such a substantial amount.

Grindelwald was buried under the pile of rubble, and knowing that he had only seconds to act, banished the debris at Dumbledore, who, with a deft flick of his wand, disintegrated it before it made contact.

Grindelwald rose to his feet and quickly healed his back, temporarily mending the broken bones, before launching an assault of his own. A rainbow of lights cascaded from his wand, but Dumbledore quickly erected his own shield which intercepted Grindelwald's curses.

Harry watched the battle in amazement. The two most powerful men of their generation exchanged spells for nearly a quarter of an hour. His eyes widened, as he witnessed the men display God-like power. What impressed him the most was that neither man was aiming to kill the other. Whether this was out of a mutual respect, or desire for a more competitive duel, it made things much more interesting to watch.

While both men were masterful duelists, Grindelwald was clearly outmatched. Dumbledore moved effortlessly, and cast spells of a magnitude Harry had never seen with practiced ease. Grindelwald struggled to maintain Dumbledore's pace, was unable to repel his onslaughts for an extended period of time.

Dumbledore was covered in sweat, but otherwise looked no worse for wear. Grindelwald stood, bloodied and broken, but defiant in the face of defeat.

"Please, Gellert, repent," Dumbledore begged.

"It is far too late for that, Albus," he said, regretting the mistakes of his past. He raised his wand to strike again, but Dumbledore acted too quickly. A rope of flame wrapped around Grindelwald's arm, snapping it to his side and searing through his robe into his flesh. Grindelwald cried out in pain as he dropped his wand and collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.

Loud cheers erupted from the buildings surrounding the street. The damage done to the adjacent area would take a great deal of time and effort to repair, and the scene of Grindelwald's defeat would become a protected historical site in the future.

Tears streamed down Dumbledore's cheeks as he collected the dropped wand, inspecting it briefly before pocketing it. _The Elder Wand, _Harry remembered. He looked down at the prone form of his former friend sadly, and canceled the rope of flame surrounding him before binding him with magical chains.

* * *

The memory ended abruptly, and Harry felt himself withdraw from the Pensieve. He found himself in the familiar office of Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Headmaster appeared not to have moved since Harry began watching his memory. "That was magnificent, sir."

"One of the proudest and worst moments of my life."

"You still care about him, don't you sir?"

"Indeed I do."

"What happened to him after your duel?"

"He was placed in Nurmengard, a prison he himself built, and remains there to this day."

"Have you ever visited him?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I have not. I decided many years ago to remember him as the boy he once was rather than the evil he became, and seeing him in his cell would serve to shatter that illusion."

Harry nodded his head. "Would you like to talk about what I watched?" He had many questions about what he had witnessed. He would like to know about Dumbledore's family and the curious wand which Harry realized was still wielded by the Headmaster.

"Perhaps another time, Harry. It has already been a long day, and the other students will be arriving shortly, I believe. If you do not mind, I will accompany you to the Great Hall."

"Yes sir." Harry rose and followed Dumbledore out of his office. "Professor, will you teach me to duel like that?"

"I think so, yes. But that will not come until you have advanced in the subject. In the meantime, you should practice the art with another member of the faculty. Filius has my recommendation. He was a master duelist in his day, and is rather fond of you."

Harry smiled in satisfaction at the thought of dueling like Dumbledore. His respect for the man had increased substantially after witnessing the duel that made him famous.

* * *

He walked into the Great Hall as the mass of students entered from the other side. He made his way to the Ravenclaw table and was immediately caught in a tight embrace. "Where _were _you, Harry?" Hermione asked frenziedly.

"Calm down, Hermione," he said softly. "A house elf sealed the barrier against me, and I couldn't get on the train. Daphne and I apparated here with Dumbledore."

Hermione seemed to freeze after hearing that. She had so many questions to ask, but the first she asked would be the scholarly one. "How did you apparate here?"

"Dumbledore took us side-along. I plan to learn as soon as I'm able." Seeing Dumbledore apparate to avoid Grindelwald's attacks had strengthened Harry's resolve to learn the skill.

"Why did a house elf seal the barrier against you?"

"He thinks that I'm in danger at Hogwarts," Harry chuckled. "Come to think of it, maybe he meant I'd suffocate from one of your hugs." Hermione blushed and released him, allowing them to take their seats.

"What kind of danger?"

"He didn't specify, but I doubt Voldemort's possessed our new Defense professor. He'd probably end up Cruciating Lockhart."

Hermione was not entirely satisfied with his answer, but moved on to her last question. "Who is this girl you apparated here with?"

"Daphne Greengrass. She's a Slytherin in our year."

Hermione frowned, "Be careful around her, Harry. From what I hear, most of the Slytherins in our year are afraid of her."

Truthfully, Harry was not surprised to hear that. Daphne was a bit abrasive, and he suspected that it would not take much to get her to start hexing. He could easily see people like Draco Malfoy becoming the targets of her wrath. But Harry knew that there was much more to Daphne Greengrass than the cold, distant witch she appeared to be in public. He had seen glimpses of what was beneath her frosty exterior, and hoped to get to know her better.

He looked over at the Slytherin table and saw her sitting alone. When she saw that he was looking at her, she nodded her head lightly, indicating that she had found the Mirror. Harry returned the gesture to let her know he had experienced no problems with his diversion. Like Dumbledore said, there was no reason to let her know he had discovered their plan.

Harry looked back at Hermione and saw that she had been impatiently waiting his response. "Don't worry, Hermione. You know I'll be careful, but I don't think I need to worry about Daphne."

Hermione nodded, accepting his answer. She had never met the Slytherin girl, but she trusted Harry's judgment.

The doors to the Great Hall opened quietly, as if the person opening them hoped to enter without being noticed. Harry examined the person as they walked across the threshold and dashed toward the Head Table. She was a rather ordinary looking Slytherin Prefect, who was looking directly at Snape as she approached him.

She began whispering urgently to her head of house. When she finished speaking, Snape smirked maliciously and strode out of the Hall, his black robes billowing behind him.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked.

Harry grinned as the first years entered the Hall to be Sorted. "I'll tell you during the Feast." _So, Weasley's flight has concluded, _Harry thought, _I hope he had a pleasant trip. _

* * *

The Sorting was relatively uneventful. A few new Ravenclaws joined the table, sitting relatively close to Harry. He did not care for the majority of his House, and doubted the new members would be any different. Most of the Ravenclaws were scholarly, which Harry could appreciate, but cared very little about the practical aspect of magic. While theory was important, it was a means to an end for Harry and Hermione. They prided themselves in their spellcasting.

The most interesting Sorting was that of the youngest Weasley. Little Ginevra had taken the better part of five minutes to have her House selected. As she removed the Hat from her head and made her way to the Gryffindor table, she stared at Harry for a couple of seconds. Harry could not identify the look she gave him. Many of the first years had attempted to inconspicuously gawk at him, but her stare was different. Harry could see none of the wonderment that was present on the faces of most first years who ogled him, and there was nothing subtle about the intense examination she seemed to be giving him. When Harry caught her eye, he, for a second, thought her irises were glowing crimson. It was a very unsettling effect, and he decided he would try to stay away from her this year.

After the Sorting, Dumbledore rose to greet the students. "Generally, I would save my remarks until after you are fed and watered, but something has arisen that will require my attention. I shall make this short. To the new students, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to all the familiar faces, welcome back. We have a rather extensive list of banned items. If you would like to see the list in its entirety, Mr. Filch will be happy to provide you with a copy. The Forbidden Forrest is, of course, forbidden. Finally, allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart." The man rose to his feet and bowed regally, to a smattering of applause. "I look forward to yet another wonderful year. Now, dig in!" Dumbledore snapped his finger, and piles of food appeared on the tables. He dashed out of the Hall in the same direction Snape had gone earlier. Harry almost felt sorry for Weasley and his lackey. While he had nothing against the Potions Master, he knew that the man could be particularly cruel to Gryffindors, and those two had been alone with him for quite a while.

"So," Hermione drawled, "You seemed to know where Snape was going. What's happening?"

"I'm not positive, but I believe Snape was going to greet Weasley and Finnigan."

"I saw some of the second year Gryffindors on the train, but neither of them made an appearance. Did they apparate here, too?"

"No, they flew."

"They flew brooms to the castle? Is that allowed?"

"I'm not sure if students are allowed to travel by broom, but I'm almost positive that arriving by flying car is discouraged." Harry smirked.

Hermione gaped at him. "You can't be serious. Those dunderheads actually flew here in an enchanted car?" Harry nodded. "They have to be expelled!" she cried in indignation.

"They probably should be, but I don't see it happening. Snape will push for it, but I doubt McGonagall will expel any of her Lions. They'll probably be in detention for the next month."

"They should at least lose House Points!"

"Technically, school hadn't started when they broke the rules, but I doubt either of them will think to mention that. Whether they should lose points or not is irrelevant, but they probably will." A roar of outrage signified that Gryffindor table had indeed been docked points. Harry glanced at their hour glass and saw that it had been filled with two hundred black beads, denoting that their standing was currently negative. Harry had expected them to lose points, but one hundred apiece was harsher than he had anticipated. Gryffindor was all but out of the running for the House Cup before the first desserts appeared on the tables.

* * *

Daphne sat at the Slytherin table eating her meal in silence. One of the first years had tried to sit next to her, but she had scowled at him and sent him on his way. It had been a productive first day, she supposed. It had not taken her much time to succeed in finding the Mirror. It was back in the abandoned classroom where she had first found it. Dumbledore had removed it from that room, and asked her not to look for it. By placing it back where she had spent so many hours during her first year, she believed that Dumbledore was encouraging her to find it again. The old man was eccentric, but who was she to question his methods?

She had sat in front of the Mirror until the other students arrived. She did not feel guilty about leaving Harry alone with the Headmaster, because she, unlike the majority of her House, found the old man to be fascinating. She expected Harry to enjoy a pleasant conversation with Dumbledore.

She relished the company of the only person who had ever cared for her until it was time for her to leave. As she stood to walk away, she was reluctant to do so. She felt herself drawn to the Mirror, but managed to shake it off and leave in time to get back to the Great Hall before the Sorting began. The level of power that the Mirror had over her was both frightening and comforting.

As she thought of the Mirror, Daphne did not notice that Draco Malfoy had taken the seat next to her until he began speaking. "Consorting with half-bloods and sullying the name of our house… What's next, Greengrass? Do you have any plans to date a Hufflepuff?"

"Leave, Malfoy," she growled.

"I don't think I will. Rumor has it you apparated to school with Potter. Is it true?"

"What if it is?"

Draco paused as he considered this. "It's not proper to consort with a half-blood. Professor Snape wouldn't be pleased-"

"Wouldn't be pleased about what, Draco? In case you haven't noticed, Professor Snape actually likes Harry. And if I'm not mistaken, you offered him your friendship at the beginning of first year and he turned you down. If it's so improper to associate with a half-blood, how bad is it to be rebuffed by one?" she asked, her voice laced with false sweetness.

"You'll regret that, Greengrass," he snarled.

Daphne laughed, "If I had a sickle for every time you'd said that…"

An outraged Draco Malfoy stalked off to find Crabbe and Goyle to take out his frustration on some first years.

Daphne smiled viciously as she watched him leave. She had spent a few weeks of her summer practicing some particularly nasty jinxes, and could not wait to test them.


	9. Chapter 8

Harry walked slowly in the direction of the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom, dreading his first lesson with Lockhart. Honestly, the man was a complete fraud. Harry was unsure what to expect from the class this year. He suspected it would entail something dreadfully boring, foolish, or a combination of the two.

He walked into the Defense classroom and took his usual seat beside Hermione. "Ready for the lesson, Hermione?" he asked.

She looked at him, and he was unable to read the expression on her face. "I'm not entirely sure. If half of what Lockhart writes is true, he's an exceptional wizard, but I have my doubts. Let's see how this first lesson goes."

Lockhart walked into the room, his royal blue robes fluttering behind him. "Good morning, class." He looked directly at Harry. "I cannot begin to tell you how privileged you are to have yours truly as your instructor in the noble course of Defense against the Dark Arts." He looked at the assembled students and saw more than a few skeptical faces amongst the Ravenclaws. "Perhaps an introduction is in order. For those of you who," he chuckled, "Don't already know me, I am Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award." He flashed the class a toothy grin that left many of the females swooning.

Lockhart proceeded to pass out quiz that Harry was almost entirely sure he failed. He doubted that Lockhart's greatest ambition was to "find a suitable place to shove all his quills," or that his greatest accomplishment to date was "prying himself away from the mirror in the morning," but he could not be bothered with answering the questions to Lockhart's desire.

"Alright, class," Lockhart beamed after collecting the quizzes, "How about a practical lesson?"

He removed a cover to reveal a cage of pixies.

Harry looked at Hermione. "I'll wager five galleons that he releases them."

"I'll take you up on that. He couldn't possibly be that daft. That many pixies would destroy the classroom."

They shook hands and turned their attention back to Lockhart. "Let's see what you make of them." With a flourish of his wand, the pixies were released.

Hermione sighed, hardly believing that a professor could be so foolish. "Double or nothing I can stun more than you."

Harry grinned and pulled out his wand, immediately stunning a pixie that had flown behind Hermione's head. "Sure thing."

Dual cries of "_Stupefy_" echoed throughout the room for the next ten minutes. When all was said and done, the room was in disarray, Lockhart was hiding beneath his desk, and Harry had stunned three more pixies than Hermione. She reluctantly handed him ten galleons as they left class at the end of the lesson.

* * *

After that disastrous first class, Lockhart had shied away from practical lessons. The rest of Harry's classes were largely the same as they were the previous year. He was still the top of his class in Charms with only Hermione besting him in Transfiguration.

As soon as he was able, he had made his way to the library to learn about his ability to talk to snakes. It was, apparently, referred to as parseltongue, and Harry was thrilled to note that many exceptional wizards had been parselmouths. Harry disagreed with their principles, but Salazar Slytherin and Lord Voldemort were great wizards.

He told Hermione about his ability as soon as he knew what it was called. "Hermione, what do you know about parseltongue?"

"The ability to speak to snakes?"

"Yep."

"Not much, really. Not a lot is written about it, because it's usually associated with dark wizards."

Harry grinned at her. "I can speak it."

She gasped, before returning his smile. "You're full of surprises, Harry Potter."

* * *

After a particularly difficult Charms lesson which Harry had mastered, Flitwick asked for him to stay after class.

The diminutive professor approached him after the rest of the students had left the room, with a large smile on his face. "Harry my boy, you have shown more aptitude for Charms than any student I have ever taught. Your mother was truly gifted, but you surpass even her ability."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Would you consent to taking additional nightly Charms lessons? I believe you might be a prodigy in the subject."

Harry did not even have to consider the offer. "I'd be delighted."

Flitwick smiled at him. "We'll begin tomorrow night, if that's not a problem."

"Of course not." Harry turned to leave, before remembering an earlier conversation with the Headmaster. "Professor Flitwick, would it be possible for you to teach me how to duel during these lessons?"

"I had planned on doing that, Harry. Some of the more advanced Charms work is only really appropriate in duels or battle settings."

He smiled down at Flitwick. "Thanks, Professor."

* * *

The extra tuition began the next night as scheduled, and Flitwick's belief that Harry was a Charms prodigy was strengthened. He quickly demonstrated that he had already mastered all of the second year Charms, leaving the Professor extremely pleased.

"What do you know of the Patronus Charm, Harry?" asked Flitwick.

Harry ran his hands through his hair while he considered the question. "I know the incantation and what it's used for, but I've never managed to cast it," he admitted.

"Not to worry, my boy. It's a tricky spell to get right, but with some help you should have it in no time," he said, smiling widely.

"I understand the theory. The magic is difficult, but nothing I can't handle," he paused, looking at the floor ashamedly, "But I don't have any memories happy enough to make it work."

A look of understanding appeared on Flitwick's face. He did not know much about Harry's home life, but seriously doubted that it had been pleasant. He cared deeply for the dedicated young man, and would do everything in his power to help him achieve his goals. "I'll do anything I can to help you get that happy memory," he said sincerely. "In the meantime, if ever you need to talk, you know where to find me."

Harry smiled down at him. "I think I'd like that, Professor Flitwick."

"Please call me Filius outside of class," he said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "I think that we've done enough for tonight. Your progress is astounding."

Harry thanked the professor- _Filius, _he reminded himself, and left the classroom.

As he rounded a corner, he heard a menacing voice hiss, "_Rip, tear, kill…_" He did not recognize the speaker, but the reading he had done on parseltongue allowed him to recognize it as the voice of a serpent.

He sprinted in the direction of the voice, hoping to save the snake's intended victim. The reading he had done on the subject told him that snakes typically bowed to the will of parseltongues, and even if the snake would not obey him, he doubted that it would withstand a simple Reductor.

He chased the voice across the corridor, but could not match its speed. The snake had lost him, but he did not think it had claimed a victim, as he had seen no one else during his pursuit.

An exhausted Harry Potter returned to Ravenclaw tower and contemplated the day's events as he collapsed on his bed.

* * *

"Greengrass," Draco Malfoy drawled, as he approached her in the Slytherin common room, "There's something we need to discuss."

"Why don't you discuss it with someone who doesn't wish you dead?" she asked, without looking up from the book she was reading.

He seethed internally, but managed to keep his emotions in check. "It is somewhat urgent," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"You've mistaken me for someone who gives a damn, Malfoy."

_How I would like to put this impetuous girl in her place, _he thought. "It's about Potter."

She finally looked up at him, and her eyes were blazing. "What about Harry?"

He smirked and his demeanor changed to one of smugness. "We, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and I that is, have decided that you are to stop consorting with the half-blood."

Daphne laughed at him.

"What is so funny?" he growled.

"I find it amusing that," she forced out through another chuckle, "You believe yourself to be Harry's rival."

"Of course I'm Potter's rival! Someone has to keep the Golden Boy in line."

Daphne shook her head. "You just don't get it. Do you, Malfoy? You aren't Harry Potter's rival because he is a better wizard that you in every regard. You are a pest, a bothersome one I admit, but only a pest. Harry tolerates you because you have yet to do anything to truly anger him, but if you force his hand he will crush you."

Draco's face turned red by the end of Daphne's statement, and he raised his hand to strike her. Before he could act, her wand had appeared in a flash. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

He collapsed to the floor, unable to move as she rose from her chair and loomed over him. She looked at him with undisguised rage. "Fighting like a Muggle now, eh Malfoy? Lucius would be proud," she said with a sneer. "What I said about Harry mostly applies to me as well, but I'll be less considerate." She brought her heel down on his nose and heard a satisfying crunch as the bone was crushed, and crimson blood flowed onto his expensive robes.

She leaned over him, her face inches from his, and whispered, "If you ever try that again, I will kill you. If you go crying to your father about this, I will kill you. And if you do anything to hurt Harry, I will kill you." Her voice held no malice as she said this- she was merely stating the facts. The fear in Malfoy's eyes was evident as she walked out of the room.

* * *

Harry helped himself to the Treacle Tart, silently thanking the powers that be that nothing had interrupted the Halloween Feast this year. He recalled the previous year, when Voldemort had allowed a troll into the castle. All in all, this Halloween had been rather uneventful, though he did find it unusual that none of the ghosts were present during the Feast.

After the remaining deserts disappeared, Harry and Hermione stood to leave the Great Hall. They walked toward the staircase, but were unable to go any further because everyone in front of them had come to a complete stop. He thought he heard someone yell something about "Mudbloods."

_Probably Malfoy, _he thought, as he inched his way forward, trying to see what had caused the commotion. He wedged his way through two older students and looked over the head of a first year, and saw a message written on the wall, in what appeared to be blood.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE.

Below the message was a large puddle of water and the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, still and seemingly dead.

He glanced at Hermione, and motioned for her to follow him into an empty classroom. "So it's real, then? The Chamber of Secrets?" he asked.

"I don't know, Harry. It might just be a joke- you know how much everyone hates Filch. Then again, I don't think a student would have been able to petrify his cat."

"Petrify?" he asked.

"Yes. The cat was petrified, not killed. It can be hard to tell the difference, but the way it was positioned was too unnatural for it to have been dead."

Harry replayed the image in his mind and realized that Hermione's assessment was correct. "You're right," he said, nodding, "But what could have petrified that cat?"

She frowned and furrowed her brow in concentration. "I really don't know. The Chamber of Secrets is supposed to be the home of the Monster of Slytherin. That would suggest that it was a snake of some kind, but I can't think of a snake with venom that petrifies its victim."

Harry closed his eyes as he recalled something that had happened weeks earlier- specifically, his chase of a snake that he never even saw. "It's definitely a snake, but I don't know what kind," he said, suddenly grateful that he had not caught it.

Hermione looked at him worriedly. "Let's be extra careful, alright?"

* * *

Several weeks later, Harry sat alone at the Ravenclaw table eating breakfast. Hermione had decided to catch up on her sleep. Harry looked up as Roger Davies, an older Ravenclaw, walked briskly toward him. "Harry lad, I'm in need of some assistance."

"What can I do for you, Roger?" he asked.

"Well, our Seeker's gone and gotten herself put in the Hospital Wing on the same day as our first match," he said, looking annoyed at the inconvenience. "We don't have a reserve, and Hooch said that you're a natural on a broom. Will you help us out?"

Harry considered this for a moment. He really did enjoy flying, and he doubted that taking the time to play one match would interfere with his studies. "I'm in," he said, grinning. "What do I need to do?"

"Well, you'll be playing Seeker. It's simple enough to explain, but bloody difficult to do. You only have to do one thing. There'll be a tiny, gold ball- the Snitch. All you have to do is catch it," he said, looking thoughtful, "And try not to get knocked off your broom by a Bludger."

* * *

Harry shot into the air on the old school broom. It was probably the worst broom on the Pitch, but he outclassed most of the other players in terms of talent. Davies had informed him that the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Chasers were fairly evenly matched, so the game would likely be decided by who caught the Snitch.

He felt the wind pound against his face as he rose higher and higher into the air. He finally came to a stop and began looking for the Snitch. He listened briefly to the commentary. "Harry Potter couldn't have picked a more difficult first match. Cedric Diggory is one of the better Seekers we've had at Hogwarts in the past few decades," the voice of Lee Jordan resounded through the stadium.

Harry heard the Bludger before he saw it. He noticed the soft whoosh, and moments later heard a sharp crack as the Bludger collided with his foot, cleanly snapping his ankle, causing him to double over in pain on his broom. It changed course, and rushed at him from the front. He ascended higher, barely avoiding being hit again.

He began an erratic flight through the stadium, trying in vain to lose the Rogue Bludger. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt it miss his head by millimeters. He urged the broom farther into the sky, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse. He turned his head to see if he was still being chased, and barely managed to roll out of the Bludger's path as his momentary delay gave it another chance to hit him.

He dove to the ground, intent on losing his pursuer, when he noticed a glint of gold. He sped toward it, extending his arm, as he neared the grass below. His hand closed around the Snitch at the same time the Bludger collided with the elbow of his outstretched arm, knocking him off of his broom and sending him crashing the remaining few meters to the ground.

Harry rolled onto his back and looked up, only to see the Bludger diving at his skull. "Not to worry!" he heard Gilderoy Lockhart say. "I'll take care of that pesky thing. _Reducto!_"

_Damn! Why did it have to be Lockhart? _Harry asked himself. He turned his head to face the Defense Professor, and saw his Reductor heading straight at his chest when his world went black.

* * *

Daphne sat, crying, in front of the Mirror. Hours earlier, she had seen the closest thing she had to a friend take a Reductor to the chest and a Bludger to the head simultaneously. It had all happened _too _fast. She had not had enough time to act. She had cast a shield which prevented the Bludger from doing any further damage, but she had been too late. Harry was lucky to be alive.

What disturbed her more was the response of a certain Gryffindor. Ginny Weasley wore a satisfied smirk on her face throughout the ordeal. If Daphne discovered that she had been involved, she would kill the little chit.

She recalled an earlier confrontation with the girl. She had seen her walking down the hallway writing in the book Lucius Malfoy had slipped her before the start of the year. She always seemed to have that thing with her.

"Keeping a diary, Weasley?" she asked, hoping to gleam some information about the book.

She looked up, and her eyes appeared to glow crimson before reverting to a dark brown. "Watch your back, Greengrass," she said evenly, before walking away.

She did not know what to think about the girl. Her personality was just… _off_, somehow. She needed guidance, and only trusted the opinion of her grandmother. "Should I tell Dumbledore?" she asked. She gazed into the Mirror, and saw her grandmother smile, nodding her head. She returned her grandmother's smile, but it failed to reach her eyes. "I'll tell him." As she rose from the floor, she saw, above her grandmother's head, an enormous pair of yellow, serpentine eyes. Her world went black.

* * *

Harry awoke, suddenly, when he felt a weight upon his chest. "Harry Potter sir, you must be leaving Hogwarts." He opened his eyes.

"Dobby! Why are you here?"

"To make you safe! Dobby had hoped they would send you home after his Bludger…"

Harry's eyes widened at the realization, before he scowled, asking in a deadly quiet voice, "Your Bludger, Dobby?"

The elf nodded his head vehemently. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir."

"Is there any particular reason you're trying to kill me?" he asked, his voice still quiet.

"Not kill! Dobby is trying to make you leave Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets is opened again, and-"

"Again?" Harry interrupted.

Dobby's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. He did not have time to punish himself, as they heard voices approaching the Hospital Wing. "You must be leaving Hogwarts," Dobby said, pleadingly, as he disappeared.

Harry closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep when the door opened. "What does this mean, Headmaster?" asked the voice of Severus Snape.

"It is as I feared, Severus. The Chamber of Secrets has, indeed, been opened again."

"Is the Dark Lord responsible?"

"I am not sure how, but I believe he is. Tom Riddle is the only student to have ever opened the Chamber, though my sources tell me that Voldemort has fled the island for the time being. Someone must be helping him."

_So, _Harry thought, _Voldemort is responsible for this. And his real name is Tom Riddle._

"What can we do?" asked Snape.

Dumbledore sighed, "We try to stop him."

Harry heard the two men exit the room and close the door behind them. He opened his eyes, and noticed that the curtains were drawn around a bed that had previously been empty. He rose gingerly to his feet, as his ankle was still not fully mended, and walked slowly to the bed.

He pulled back the curtain, and felt his chest constrict painfully. _Daphne._

Harry stood in stunned silence, not knowing what to do. He did not know how long he stood beside her bed. Time did not seem to matter.

He felt a lump in his throat as his eyes swelled, and a tear tracked down his cheek. He gently ran his finger across her cheek, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll find out who helped Voldemort do this, Daphne," he said quietly, trying to suppress the tears. "When I do, I'll make them suffer."

He stared into her cobalt eyes a moment longer, before closing the curtain and returning to his bed, embracing the oblivion of his dreams.


	10. Chapter 9

Harry slowly opened his eyes, willing the previous night to have been nothing more than a bad dream. He quickly examined the room and saw a bed with the curtains closed around it, concealing the occupant, who he knew to be Daphne Greengrass. He was not very familiar with the petrification process, but he knew that it would take months to brew the antidote. He had previously planned to give Slytherin's Monster a chance to live if it obeyed him, but that was now out of the question. It would be destroyed.

His plans for revenge were interrupted when the door to the Hospital Wing opened, and Roger Davies walked in after seeing that Harry was awake. "Mate, I'm glad to see you alive," he said, seeming genuinely glad for Harry's health.

Harry nodded his head, not at all glad that he was no longer unconscious.

"In case you didn't know, we won the game. 190 to 20. We decided not to have the party until you were out of here," he said, gesturing to the Hospital Wing.

"Thanks," Harry said absently.

"The team was wondering if you'd consider playing full time. That was some damn nice flying on Saturday."

Harry stared at him intently for a moment, before he decided to go easy on him. After all, he had nothing to do with Daphne's condition. He didn't even _know _about it. There was no reason for Harry to take his frustration out on him. "I don't think so, Roger. My introduction to the sport left something to be desired," he said dryly.

Roger chuckled. "That's what I expected. No hard feelings, mate. Take care of yourself." He lightly patted Harry on the shoulder before exiting the ward.

Hermione visited him later, and he noted that she had dark circles under her eyes. He doubted that she had slept at all, so after she had made sure that he was not on the verge of dying, he ordered her to return to bed.

Later that day, after he had been cleared to leave, he stopped at Daphne's bed and told her that he would visit frequently.

The next night, he attended his scheduled lesson with Filius. He told the dueling champion about what he had seen in the Hospital Wing and asked him to begin teaching him how to fight, and Flitwick was only too happy to oblige.

Harry left the classroom that night beaten and bruised, but feeling that he now had a better chance if he ever found himself in a real fight.

* * *

"Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart at the first meeting of the Dueling Club.

Harry's dueling skills had improved dramatically during his nightly lessons with Filius. The man was not a champion duelist for nothing, and he believed that Harry had nearly limitless potential in the art.

Lockhart kept talking for a few more minutes, but Harry paid minimal attention to the man. His patience with the incompetent Professor had reached a new low since he had almost killed him.

Eventually, he noticed that Lockhart and Professor Snape were bowing to each other and preparing to duel. Snape fired a disarming spell at the man and he went flying backward. Lockhart was beaten with a single spell.

He slowly got back on his feet, and tried in vain to save face.

The students were grouped in pairs for their duels. Harry had hoped to have a friendly duel with Hermione, but Lockhart had paired him with Ron Weasley.

He faced the redhead and inclined his head slightly, wondering if it would pass for a bow. _It doesn't really matter, _he supposed. He would be more formal in a real duel. As it was, Weasley was not capable of doing anything against him.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry said, and the duel was over. Weasley stood in the way of the spell, not trying to move or shield, and had taken it to the chest. Harry waited impatiently for the other duels to conclude, tapping his foot against the ground. He noticed that Hermione had taken out Millicent Bullstrode as easily as he had dispatched his opponent.

For the next round, Harry and Ron were moved to the demonstration platform to duel. Harry decided to see if Ron was capable of any offensive magic. He grinned wickedly as an idea formed in his mind.

The pair bowed to each other again, and the duel began. At that moment, two things happened. Harry leveled his wand at his target and fired. "_Reducto!_"

Ron Weasley did the same. He pointed his wand at Harry and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry could not help but laugh at the outcome. Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes widened at the Reductor struck him in the chest and he was flung against the wall. Ron Weasley's wand shot out of his hand and he was thrown backward the moment he cast his spell. Harry looked at the wand on the ground and noticed that it was held together with some kind of tape. _Would he be less incompetent with a functional wand?_ Harry asked himself.

He heard someone in the crowd say reverently, "He took both of them out at the same bloody time!"

* * *

Over the weeks leading up to the Holidays, rumor began to spread that Harry was the most powerful person in the castle. He hardly believed that taking out Lockhart and Weasley was much of an accomplishment, but he happily accepted the praise.

Lockhart had not been seen for the better part of two weeks. This impressed Harry, because Lockhart's Reductor and Dobby's Bludger had only taken him out of commission for a day. He was, apparently, much more magically powerful than Lockhart already.

The Holidays were, thankfully, uneventful. Harry received a book about advanced dueling technique from Hermione, and he spent the last week of his break studying it.

Weeks passed, and Slytherin's Monster had not petrified anyone else. A sense of foreboding filled the air on the morning of the Gryffindor Hufflepuff Quidditch match. No one could tell what the problem was, but something seemed to be wrong.

* * *

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry said, "Let's go to the Quidditch match."

"When did you start liking Quidditch?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't think we should be in the castle today," he replied.

"Any particular reason?"

"Just a feeling," he said, looking at her worriedly.

She sighed, "Alright. Let's go."

They walked to the Quidditch Pitch and took their seats amongst the other Ravenclaws. The two teams took the field, and moments before they took to the sky, McGonagall came rushing onto the Pitch. "Today's match is cancelled. Please return to your dormitories," she said, her voice magically amplified.

Harry turned to Hermione and asked, "What do you think that was about?"

"No idea. I suppose we'll find out later," she responded. "Hey, look over there!" she exclaimed, pointing to the Gryffindor section. Harry's eyes followed her gesture and he saw a group of men wearing Auror robes with their wands trained on Hagrid escorting him from the stadium.

They followed the other Ravenclaws back to their dormitory, and were met by Filius. The normally jovial Professor had tears flowing freely down his face. "It is my sad duty to inform you that we have lost a member of our family," he said through his tears. "Penelope Clearwater was found dead outside the Library earlier this morning."

Panic spread rapidly over the room, and Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her into an unoccupied corner. He noticed that she had tears in her eyes as well. "It has to be Slytherin's Monster," he said.

She nodded her head. "Was it Hagrid that released it?" she asked.

"I don't think so. Hagrid's kind of simple, but he's a nice bloke. Dumbledore trusts him."

"You're right, of course. I just… I can't believe that the Monster actually killed someone."

"We need to find out more about the Chamber. We know it's been opened before."

"You should ask Professor Flitwick," she said.

He nodded and searched the room for the Professor. _He must have gone back to his office,_ Harry decided when he did not see him in the room.

Harry left the Common Room and made his way to the Charms Master's office. He opened the door slowly, and saw Filius sitting behind his desk, sobbing quietly. "Will you be alright, Filius?" he asked.

He nodded his head in the affirmative. "It will take some time. I've never lost a member of my House before. It was a Ravenclaw, Myrtle Brown, that was killed last time as well, but that was before I started teaching."

"Last time, sir?"

"Yes, last time. The Chamber of Secrets was opened about fifty years ago. They arrested Hagrid for it then, too. He wasn't responsible, of course," he added.

"Why was he arrested this time?"

"I suspect it was because Fudge wanted to be seen as doing something."

Harry hugged the man before he headed back to the Common Room to discuss what he had learned with Hermione.

* * *

"Myrtle Brown?" she asked.

"That's what Filius said."

"Harry, she never left. She has to be Moaning Myrtle. She haunts the girl's bathroom on the second floor. No one ever goes in there."

"I think we should pay Myrtle a visit."

"Myrtle, I need to ask you a personal question. Is that alright?" he asked. She nodded her translucent head. "How did you die?"

She tilted her head to the side, and appeared to be… flattered. "No one's ever asked me that before," she said. "I don't really know. The last thing I remember is seeing a pair of big, yellow eyes. Right over there." She pointed at the sinks.

Harry considered this. "The last thing she saw was a pair of eyes," he reasoned aloud, "It must have been a Basilisk."

"That doesn't work, Harry. Mrs. Norris and Daphne were only petrified," Hermione argued.

Harry thought about that. "That's because they didn't look directly into its eyes. Remember the water that was on the floor when they found Mrs. Norris? And I'll bet Daphne was looking at the Mirror when she saw it."

"That makes sense," she agreed. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to find the Chamber. Then we're going to go tell Dumbledore. Myrtle said that she saw it above the sinks. That must be the opening."

Harry walked to the sinks and looked for something that symbolized the opening. The third sink he looked at had a small, almost unnoticeable, snake engraved on it. "_Open,_" he hissed.

The sinks began to separate, and a chasm appeared between them- the Chamber of Secrets. "Let's go find Dumbledore," he said.

They ran out of the bathroom and noticed something they had missed earlier. Written on the wall, below where the first message had been was:

HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.

Harry's thoughts went immediately to Daphne. _Had they taken her?_ "Hermione, go find Dumbledore. I'm going into the Chamber."

"Harry, you can't!"

"I have to. Whoever that thing took, I can't let her die. Besides, I'm the only parseltongue in school. If I can't do it, I don't think anyone else will be able to. Go get Dumbledore," he pleaded.

She nodded her head, before hugging him ferociously. "Please be careful, Harry."

He smiled at her, masking how nervous he truly felt. "Always."

Harry ran back into the bathroom and jumped into the Chamber before he could change his mind.

He walked into the Inner Sanctum of the Chamber, praying that the Monster had not taken Daphne, and feeling ashamed that he wished the fate on someone else. He saw a little girl lying on the ground. It took him a moment to recognize her. "Ginny Weasley," he mused as he walked toward her.

"Very good, Harry Potter," came a voice from behind.

Harry turned around to face the other person. It was a teenage boy, probably a few years older than Harry, wearing what seemed to be an old school uniform. _Slytherin,_ Harry noted.

Something about this felt wrong to Harry. He recalled the first time he had encountered Ginny Weasley, and shivered. Was she somehow responsible for all this?

"Ginny has told me a lot about you, Harry. You remind me a great deal of myself at your age. I can sense your power."

"Who are you?"

"I was once Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said, sneering at the name.

"Ah," Harry said, "I thought you were a spirit now, Voldemort."

"Very impressive," he said, clapping his hands, "You have figured it out. Few people know that Tom Riddle and Voldemort are the same person."

"You didn't answer my question. What type of magic is this?"

"This is magic at its most powerful," he said, smiling viciously. "Notice the book that the little fool holds in her hands. With the help of that book, I have taken her life force."

"I've never heard of that kind of magic."

"I am not surprised. Dumbledore would not have wanted his students to know about true power."

"Dumbledore is a great wizard," Harry said defensively.

"He is powerful, yes. I do not deny that. But he is a fool. He allowed me to become a Dark Lord under his watch. It was under his very nose that I became the most powerful sorcerer to ever live."

"Is the girl dead?"

Voldemort smirked at him. "You do not seem to care for her safety, Harry Potter. Why have you come to rescue her?"

"I didn't come to rescue her. Truthfully, she is a disturbing little girl."

"That would be my doing. She has possessed my diary for almost a year, and she has been under its control for nearly that long. The Ginny Weasley you encountered at the beginning of the school year was already my puppet. She offered very little resistance. She is still alive, but only just. Does it really matter?"

"To some people."

"To you?"

"I… I'm not sure. If not for her, a very dear friend of mine would not be in the Hospital Wing right now."

"Will you join me, Harry Potter? You have the power and intelligence to stand beside me, atop the world." He spread his arms and made a grand, sweeping gesture.

"No," he said without hesitation.

"I can see what you want. You want power and respect. I can give you those things."

Harry thought of Daphne. "That's not all that matters, Voldemort. Why did you attack a pure-blood?"

"My concern for blood has been overstated. She knew about the diary and was a threat."

"You've harmed too many people that I care about," he said simply.

Voldemort sighed. "Very well. You could have been great, Harry Potter." He turned and hissed, "_Kill the boy._"

"_Stop_." Harry ordered the serpent. The Basilisk did not obey him.

Voldemort gaped before he carefully masked his face to school his emotions. "_Do not attack the boy,_" he hissed. "You speak the language of my ancestor?"

"Full of surprises, aren't I?"

"It does not matter, child. I do wish things could have gone differently. I shall give honor you with a proper duel," he said.

"If that is what you wish."

Harry drew his wand and Voldemort picked up Ginny's. "It is not a perfect match, but as I have her life force, this wand will be acceptable."

They bowed to each other and the duel began. "_Stupefy!_" Harry shouted. Voldemort nimbly stepped to the side, easily avoiding the Stunner. "_Stupefy!_" With a deft wave of Ginny's wand, the spell was thrown to the side.

The Dark Lord twirled his wand lazily, and Harry found himself immobilized on the ground. "I shall give you one more chance, Harry Potter. Your potential is great. Join me and I shall teach you real magic. I can make your relatives love you. With my help, you can make the world bow to you."

"I must regretfully decline your offer, Voldemort. You and I could never work."

Voldemort chuckled, "Then you shall die." Voldemort stood over him, the words that had caused immeasurable death on his lips.

"Good evening, Tom," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore from the other side of the Sanctum.

Voldemort looked away from Harry with a scowl on his face, and saw Albus Dumbledore with a phoenix on his shoulder, flanked by Flitwick on his left and Snape on his right. The fire that burned behind the Headmaster's eyes was frightening. "_Attack the old man,_" he ordered the snake.

The phoenix flew from Dumbledore's shoulder and landed atop the Basilisk's head, and dug its claws into the beast's eyes. The snake hissed in pain as its eyes were destroyed. "_Kill them all!_" Voldemort ordered. The snake charged at the group of men.

A chain of fire emitted from Dumbledore's wand and wrapped itself around the Basilisk's head. A wave of gold from Snape struck it between the eyes, and it opened its mouth in pain and shock. Flitwick took advantage of the opportunity and fired a wave of purple energy into the snake's mouth. The wave exploded, nearly cleaving the beast's head from its body and sending debris from inside the snake flying around the Chamber. Dumbledore tightened the flames around the Basilisk, and it fell in two pieces to the ground, undoubtedly dead.

Voldemort shrieked in anger as the Monster of his ancestor was destroyed by his nemesis. He looked around the room and saw that four wands were trained on him. "If you kill me, the girl dies."

Harry made his way to the side of the prone body of Ginny Weasley. He removed the book from her hands. Voldemort displayed his fear only for a moment, before laughing at him. "There is nothing you can do to destroy that book, boy."

Harry placed the book on the ground at his feet and took a few steps back. "_Reducto!_" The book was struck cleanly by the spell, but its condition did not change. "_Diffindo!_" The cutting curse hit the cover of the book, but did no noticeable damage. Voldemort's laughter became louder, almost maniacal.

"It is indestructible, child."

"Nothing is indestructible, Tom." Harry thought back to his reading about the Basilisk. The Serpent King's venom was especially potent. He looked around the room and found the object he thought he would need to destroy the diary. "_Accio!_" The Basilisk fang landed smoothly in his hand.

Voldemort screamed, "Join me, Potter! We will be unstoppable! With power such as ours-"

He was unable to finish his thought as Harry slammed the fang into the diary. Ink spurted from the pages, and the Dark Lord wailed in pain. Harry stabbed the book again, and with one final scream, the Dark Lord disappeared.

"Harry," began Dumbledore, "You have done brilliantly. Do you know what happened to Miss Weasley?"

"The weak minded fool allowed the Basilisk to attack a close friend of mine and kill a member of my House before nearly giving Voldemort the means to return," Harry seethed.

Ginny Weasley slowly opened her eyes, but wished she could return to unconsciousness when she saw the look of undisguised hatred on the face of her childhood idol.

* * *

Daphne groggily opened her eyes and observed her surroundings. She seemed to be in the Hospital Wing, and she could taste a foul potion in the back of her throat.

Madam Pomfrey rushed to her bed. "Finally awake, are you dear? You gave us quite the scare."

"What happened?" asked Daphne, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

Madam Pomfrey proceeded to tell her the story of her petrification, and what had done it. She thanked Merlin that she had seen the Basilisk's eyes in the Mirror before she turned around.

"There's a note for you on the stand beside your bed," the matron said gently.

Daphne picked up the scrap of parchment and began to read.

_Daphne,_

_I don't know exactly how to write this. It seems incredibly awkward to put my thoughts on parchment like this. _

_I just want to let you know that I miss you. I've visited you a few times, but it's not really the same when you're not insulting me. _

_I suppose you'll be happy to know that the Basilisk has been exterminated. It never really had a chance against the professors._

_Get well soon, and take care of yourself._

_-Potter_

Daphne grinned to herself as a solitary tear made its way down her cheek. She folded the piece of parchment and placed it in her pocket.

* * *

Harry sat in the Headmaster's office on the last day of the school year, having a long overdue conversation.

"Professor, Voldemort said some things in the Chamber… Things that frighten me," Harry shuddered.

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, he said that we're the same, that I remind him of a young Tom Riddle."

"That's preposterous, my boy," Dumbledore admonished. "While Tom Riddle was a driven student, much as you are, his motivations were different. You want to be loved and respected. Tom wanted to be feared."

"But I'm a parselmouth."

"Indeed you are. It is my belief that Voldemort transferred that ability to you the night he gave you your scar."

"Did he transfer anything else?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not believe so. You have prodigious magical ability for one your age, but I believe that is your own strength. Not Voldemort's."

"I was no match for him, sir. He took me down like it was nothing, and would have killed me if you hadn't arrived," Harry said, his eyes drifting to the floor in shame.

"Very few people can match Voldemort, Harry. I have yet to meet a second year who can claim to be Voldemort's equal in power. I have no doubt that you will one day be an exceptional duelist. I have already agreed to train you after Filius has taught you the basics. I believe that you will be able to challenge Tom eventually."

Harry noticed the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, and could not help but feel better about his chances to defeat Voldemort in the future. "What type of magic was the diary, sir?"

"That diary represents the pinnacle of evil magic, Harry. Suffice it to say that a piece of Voldemort was contained within its pages."

"Does he have any other diaries?"

"I do not know."

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat by themselves in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He had already told her about the events of the Chamber.

Harry waved excitedly as he saw Daphne walk past their compartment. She did not return the wave, but he noticed that a small smile graced her lips and she inclined her head slightly, before she walked out of sight.

The train pulled into King's Cross Station without incident. Harry said his goodbyes and promised to write. He walked onto the platform and spent minutes looking for his relatives. The Dursleys had not bothered to come get him.

Harry grumbled something under his breath, as he carried his trunk out of the station and called for the Knight Bus.


	11. Chapter 10

As Harry exited the Knight Bus in front of Number Four Privet Drive, he decided that he was becoming far too familiar with Stan Shunpike. He had nothing against the man, but doubted that many other wizards his age rode the Knight Bus so frequently. The price was not a terrible inconvenience, but he rather disliked the experience of it.

He was in a foul mood after the nauseating trip, and as he hefted his trunk inside the house his disposition was sour.

Vernon watched with faint amusement as his scrawny nephew struggled with his trunk. He was paid handsomely to house the boy and be civil with him, but he did not have to like the runt. The humor of the situation disappeared when Harry fixed his Uncle with a cold glare.

"Is there any particular reason you decided not to pick me up at the station, Uncle?" he asked quietly, his eyes drilling holes through the beefy man.

"Didn't… Didn't see the need," he stammered.

"Didn't see the need?" Harry asked, without raising his voice.

"Well, you made it back alright," he said, his face turning red.

"I'm afraid that's not the point, Uncle."

Vernon's complexion turned puce. He _would not _have that boy disrespect him in his own house; Albus Dumbledore and his payments be damned. "Now see here, boy-" he began.

"No, you see here Vernon," Harry interrupted, "I know about the payments Headmaster Dumbledore sends to you for my room and board. I'm actually quite thankful for them. Merlin knows how bad life here would've been if you hadn't gotten paid. The point, Uncle, is that you had damn well better earn them."

Vernon's veins were throbbing, and he seemed to be struggling to control his temper. "How do you propose we do that, freak?"

"I don't know, Vernon," Harry started, raising his voice for the first time. "Perhaps you could do something small like picking me up from the station. Maybe you could have pretended to love me," he trailed off, his face reddening in embarrassment at the admission.

Harry grabbed his trunk and headed up the stairs toward his bedroom. As he was leaving, he heard his Uncle say, "I wouldn't count on that!"

Harry collapsed onto his bed and angry tears welled up in his eyes. In spite of everything that had happened, he still held onto a sliver of hope that perhaps his relatives would, one day, come to care for him. Vernon had effectively squashed that wish. Harry would no longer hold out any hope that his relatives would become people he could call family.

* * *

Harry spent most of his time locked in his room studying his books or walking the streets of Little Whinging. He had purchased a number of books on Advanced Charms theory at Filius' request. His relationship with Vernon was strained, and he tried to keep away from the man, lest they get into another argument.

As he walked down the street one hot afternoon in early July, he noticed an older woman, Mrs. Figg if he remembered correctly, watching him. She had lived on Privet Drive for as long as he could remember, but he could not recall ever speaking to her.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh," she started, flustered at being caught watching him. "No. I'd best be going, Harry."

He frowned. "How do you know my name?"

Her eyes widened when she realized her mistake. "Your Aunt told me," she lied as smoothly as she could.

Harry shook his head. "No she didn't. Aunt Petunia doesn't usually mention me. How do you know who I am?" he asked again, more forcefully this time.

She sighed in defeat. "Headmaster Dumbledore sent me here to keep an eye on you," she admitted. "Come inside, and we'll talk," she said, motioning him inside the house.

Harry nodded, his curiosity getting the better of his cautiousness. Still, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the wand in his pocket as he walked inside.

The house, he noticed, was an almost perfect replica of Number Four. Aunt Petunia would not have tolerated the smell of stale cat urine that pervaded Mrs. Figg's home, but the structures were identical.

"Care for a biscuit?" she asked.

"No, I'd prefer an explanation," he said firmly.

She reluctantly nodded her head. "The Headmaster sent me here to keep an eye on you eleven years ago."

"Why?"

"He wanted to make sure you weren't treated poorly. From what I could tell, the Dursleys never accepted you as one of their own, but they didn't mistreat you," she said, frowning slightly.

"Is that all?"

"He needed someone in the area in case you were ever attacked."

"Did he expect you to fight off a Death Eater attack?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not. I'm non-magical, but can use the Floo as well as anyone else. If anything had happened, I'd have let Albus know."

"That's actually a relief. I'd never really considered it, but I'm glad that he had someone here to keep an eye on things," he said with genuine gratitude.

"Albus is a great man," she said. "Not many people would employ a Squib, but Albus doesn't care about any of that."

"I hold the Headmaster in high regard. He's done a lot for me over my life."

They spent the next hour trading stories about the venerable Headmaster. When Harry left Mrs. Figg's home that evening, he felt a lot better than he had before his walk.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, his birthday had arrived. He received a book on Ancient Runes from Hermione. They had discussed their options for the coming school year and decided to take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Filius sent him a wand holster that would give him a serious advantage in any fight. He was beginning to regard the Professor as a favored Uncle.

Hermione's gift came with a letter letting him know that she was spending her holiday in France. He wished he could join her.

* * *

"Boy," hollered Uncle Vernon, "Get down here!"

Harry made his way downstairs at a leisurely pace. He was not in a hurry to acquiesce to any of Vernon's commands.

"You took your time," Vernon grumbled while Harry looked at him impassively. "Your Aunt Marge is staying here for the next week. You'll be on your best behavior," he threatened. "She doesn't know about your disorder, and we'll keep it that way."

"I'm not making any promises, Vernon. If she behaves, I will too."

Vernon's nostrils flared, but he nodded his head, hoping to avoid any confrontations so soon before his sister arrived.

* * *

The tension around the dinner table was palpable. "Bad breeding, I tell you," said Aunt Marge. "You can't blame yourself, Vernon. Look at how Dudley's turned out."

Vernon nodded in agreement, but he looked at Harry with some trepidation. He remembered Harry's condition for hiding his unnaturalness.

"It's all about the blood," she continued. "A worthless drunk and that harlot sister of Petunia's couldn't have hoped for any better."

Harry rose forcefully from the table. "A word, Vernon?" he asked, motioning his Uncle to follow him from the room.

"What the bloody Hell is this about, boy?" he asked.

"You know damn well what it's about. You shut her up, or I will," he threatened.

Vernon clenched his fists and tried in vain to control his temper. "Get out of my house."

Harry smirked at him and said, "Gladly." He knew that Dumbledore had a reason for placing him with the Dursleys, but after this summer he could no longer bear to suffer their company. His Aunt and Uncle had always treated him coolly at best, and his cousin had been cruel until he had learned to control his magic. This summer, Vernon and Petunia had been downright nasty. For the longest time, he had loved his relatives and hoped for them to love him in kind. The events of this summer had squashed the love he had for his them.

Harry headed up the stairs to the room that had served as his bedroom for the past twelve years to gather his things. He haphazardly tossed his possessions into his school trunk and let his owl out of her cage. "Go out and fly for a while, girl. I'll probably head to London, and you can find me later." She hooted and flew out the open window.

Harry walked back down the stairs, dragging his trunk behind him, and stepped into the kitchen to say his goodbyes.

"It's been a hellish twelve years," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I can say, without any hesitation, that I hate all of you. May you one day reap all that you've sown." Harry turned to leave the kitchen, before stopping to make a final comment. "And Marge, I must say that I agree with some of your talk about breeding. I shall be thankful for the rest of my life that I am not related to you by blood." He gathered his trunk and left the Dursley home.

He walked down Privet Drive, dragging his heavy trunk behind him. He intended to call the Knight Bus and take a trip to London. _Guess I'll be seeing Stan Shunpike again,_ he thought. He would probably spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron and see where things went from there.

As he made it to Magnolia Crescent, his senses told him that he was being watched. He stopped and searched the area for anything suspicious. On the other side of the street, he noticed a large, black dog staring at him. _That, _Harry decided, _Is no ordinary dog._ It was standing too still and paying too much attention to him. _Could it be an Animagus?_

Slowly, Harry made his way across the street, and the dog seemed too stunned at being caught to react. "Come with me, boy," Harry said slowly, "I know what you are."

The dog nodded its head resignedly, and followed Harry down the street to a deserted section of a park he had discovered the previous summer. "Change," he ordered.

The dog nodded again, and slowly morphed into a scraggly, worn-down looking man in ragged robes. "What the Hell happened to you?" Harry asked about the man's appearance.

The man laughed in a manner reminiscent of a bark, "That Harry, is a long story."

"So, you know who I am?"

"Of course I do. You're my Godson," he said simply.

"To the best of my knowledge, I haven't a Godfather. I've been living with those Muggles for twelve years."

The man scowled, "I'm sorry about that, Harry. I'd have broken out sooner if I knew things were rough for you."

"Broken out?" Harry asked confusedly.

The man sighed, "Do you know what Veritaserum is?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Of course."

"I managed to acquire a vial of it in case anyone discovered me. Would you recognize it?"

Harry nodded his head and the man removed a vial from his tattered robes. He handed it to Harry, who instantly recognized the clear liquid as the truth serum.

"Would you care to administer three drops of that to my tongue, Harry?"

"Why do you need it?" Harry asked, his confusion growing.

"The story I'm about to tell will be difficult for you to believe," he explained.

"Alright." Harry carefully poured three drops of the potion on the man's tongue and waited for his eyes to glaze over, showing that it had taken effect.

"What is your name?" Harry asked.

"Sirius Black."

Harry recognized the name immediately. This man was, supposedly, one of Voldemort's staunchest supporters, and had been in Azkaban for the past twelve years. "Are you now, or have you ever been loyal to the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

"No."

Harry exhaled deeply, "Are you really my Godfather?"

"Yes."

"How did you gain that position?"

"Your father was my best friend. We met on the Hogwarts Express our first year, and were both sorted into Gryffindor. I was best man at his wedding, and when you were born I was asked to be your Godfather."

"Why were you sent to Azkaban?" Harry asked. This question would decide his following course of action.

"I was framed. Peter Pettigrew was a friend of ours at Hogwarts. When your parents' home was placed under the Fidelius Charm, he was chosen as the Secret Keeper because I was the obvious choice. He betrayed them to Voldemort and I was blamed. He killed twelve Muggles and disappeared in his Animagus form, after I found him. I was blamed for that as well."

Harry's eyes widened. "Why did you decide to break out of Azkaban?"

"I saw a picture of Pettigrew in the Daily Prophet. I want to kill him and provide a home for my Godson."

Harry was shocked, but immeasurably grateful that someone _wanted _to provide a home for him. "Do you have a house?"

"Yes."

"Is it fit to be lived in?"

"It will need a bit of work. It would also be a good idea to have the Fidelius put on it."

Harry considered that briefly. He did not think he could cast the Fidelius yet, so he decided to send Dumbledore a missive immediately.

Harry looked up at the man- _Sirius, _he reminded himself, and watched as the effects of the Veritaserum slowly disappeared.

Sirius closed his eyes and shook his head forcefully. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear.

"Can you apparate us to this house of yours?" Harry asked.

Sirius's face lit up at that question. "Or course! I nicked a wand from a fellow in the Alley. It's not a perfect match, but it's serviceable. I'll get my elf to bring your trunk. Kreacher!"

A decrepit looking house elf appeared next to them with a pop. "Master," it spat out the title with derision.

"Take that trunk and put it in the bedroom next to mine at Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, Master." The elf grabbed the trunk and disappeared with another pop.

* * *

Harry did not know how to feel about Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The dilapidated House of Black had been subject to decades of neglect. Once the pinnacle of respectable pure-blooded living, the massive house was a shadow of its former glory. The formerly lavish paints had faded and years' worth of debris had piled up on the floor.

After Harry arrived at his new home, he immediately penned a letter to the Headmaster. He tried to adequately convey his message without giving away any information that would be meaningful to an outside observer. Hedwig had arrived shortly after them, and he knew that Dumbledore would recognize his owl.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_My relatives and I have finally reached an impasse. I was told to leave Privet Drive, and was only too happy to oblige. On my way to call the Knight Bus, I met my Godfather, whose name I am sure you know. _

_We had a long discussion, during which he was under the influence of Veritaserum, and he said that he was never really able to give anyone directions to my parents' home. He said that he had to ask Pettigrew how to find it._

_We're currently at his parents' old house, and we require your presence at the earliest possible convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_The Boy Who No Longer Lives in Surrey_

Harry sent the letter off with Hedwig, hoping to see the Headmaster soon.

* * *

Late that night, Dumbledore sat alone in his office, hoping to hear from Harry. The wards at Privet Drive had fallen, and when he had gone to visit the Dursleys, they told him they had sent Harry on his way.

He had a great deal of faith in Harry. He was a capable young wizard who would be able to defend himself under must scenarios. He knew that his favorite student would contact him as soon as he was able.

He was unsure what to do when he did find Harry. He had placed him at Privet Drive to ensure his safety. The wards that had, until recently, surrounded the Dursley home were neigh indestructible.

He supposed he could have taken Harry in all those years ago, but he did want him to have a normal childhood. He would have been safe, but a childhood living with Albus Dumbledore would be everything but normal.

Perhaps it was foolish to expect Harry to have a happy childhood with the Dursleys, but he had seen many years ago that Petunia Dursley was not beyond redemption. Her bigotry was, at that time, mostly a defense mechanism. She had been wounded by her sister's disappearance to the magical world, so she had condemned that world in its entirety.

He spent a great deal of time observing them after he placed Harry in their home, and though she would deny it, Petunia still loved her sister. If she had been willing to love Harry in turn, as Dumbledore expected her to do, she would have been able to rein in her family. Harry would have had the childhood Dumbledore wanted for him.

He saw tonight, when he looked into Petunia Dursley's eyes, that he had never been more mistaken. Whatever hope he had for her redemption twelve years ago was now gone. She had bowed to her prejudices, and they had eventually consumed her. He had no doubt that if they had not been receiving payments the Dursleys would have treated Harry as a piece of trash.

So Albus Dumbledore sat, his fingers arched in front of his nose, patiently awaiting Harry's owl when he heard a rap at his window. He smoothly made his way to the window and allowed the owl he knew to belong to Harry into his office.

He quickly unrolled the piece of parchment and began to read. As he read the letter, his face changed from impassive to concerned, and eventually to hopeful. _If this is true, _he thought, _Sirius Black was wrongfully imprisoned._ He had always liked Sirius, and was devastated when he learned that he had betrayed James and Lily.

Dumbledore made it past Hogwarts' anti-apparition wards with surprising speed for someone his age, and apparated to Grimmauld Place.

He walked into the kitchen and saw Harry and Sirius sitting across from each other at the table, laughing raucously.

"I'm glad to see you're well, Harry," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Now, if I did not misunderstand your letter, Sirius has told you that he was not your parents' Secret Keeper?"

"That's right," Harry and Sirius said in unison.

"Would you consent to answer a few questions of mine under Veritaserum?"

Sirius nodded, and Dumbledore administered the vial of the potion he brought with him. He essentially repeated Harry's questions, and the content of the letter Harry sent him was confirmed.

"Sirius," Dumbledore began, "You have been done a great injustice. It is my hope that you will be exonerated in the near future. Unfortunately, I believe you will need to remain in hiding until we have a new Minister for Magic. I fear Cornelius would have you Kissed before listening to your story."

Sirius nodded reluctantly. He had expected that. "Headmaster, I told you earlier that Peter Pettigrew is currently hiding in his Animagus form. I have reason to believe that he is currently in the possession of Ronald Weasley."

"What makes you say that?"

"Fudge gave me a copy of the Prophet. The Weasley family won some kind of drawing, and they were pictured. Pettigrew was in that picture- I'd recognize his Animagus form anywhere."

"I will look into it. If we can present Pettigrew to the Ministry, Cornelius would be forced to lift the order to have you Kissed."

"He will try to escape, Albus. Make sure you capture him before he gets a chance," Sirius said. "In the meantime, would you place the Fidelius Charm on this house?" Sirius asked.

"I think that would be for the best. Harry will be staying here, correct?"

"Of course!" Sirius said vehemently.

"Everyone believes you are still living with your relatives, Harry. I see no reason to correct that misconception," Dumbledore said, grinning. "I will place the Charm this evening. I am willing to serve as Secret Keeper myself if you will allow it."

* * *

Daphne did not know how to explain how she felt about Harry Potter. She kept her distance from everyone to prevent herself from being hurt, but she did not relish the fact that so few people cared for her. It was an unfortunate tradeoff, she supposed. Nevertheless, the note she received from Harry made her feel considerably better. She was relieved to know that anyone, especially Harry, had missed her during her petrification.

She had become fiercely protective of him over the past year. She had no doubt that she would destroy Draco Malfoy (or anyone else, for that matter) if he did something to harm Harry. She had no idea what caused this protectiveness, but she did not necessarily mind.

She had felt protective of her sister before her grandmother's death. She still loved, Astoria, but she kept her distance from her. It was unfortunate, but necessary.

She knew that she should push Harry Potter away as well. She had not had any trouble distancing herself from her sister, so why could she not do the same with him?


	12. Chapter 11

Albus Dumbledore looked up at the ramshackle home in front of him and hoped that he was not too late. He walked briskly toward the front door and knocked on it three times. It was opened almost immediately by a matronly looking redhead wearing an apron.

"Albus, what can I do for you?" she asked. "Care for some lunch?"

"I'm afraid this is not a social call, Molly. I need to speak with Ronald," Dumbledore said, looking grave.

Molly frowned, "Has he done something else? Is this about the car?"

"No Molly, nothing like that," he reassured her. "I need to ask him about his pet rat."

She raised an eyebrow in confusion, but knew better than to question the wizened Headmaster. "Of course. Make yourself at home." She walked into the house to find her youngest son.

Albus wandered absentmindedly to the kitchen and took a seat at the table, hoping to find the rat and have Sirius cleared before dinner.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew ran as fast as his animagus legs would allow away from the Burrow. He would find his Master; he had no choice. Sirius Black had escaped prison, and now Dumbledore was asking about the young Weasley's pet. What Wormtail lacked in ability as a wizard was made up for by instinct and will to survive. He had not lived all these years as a rat only to be destroyed now that Black was out of prison.

His Master would be angry with him, of that he was certain, but he would be rewarded for being the first to return.

* * *

Ron Weasley walked nervously down the stairs to greet his Headmaster. He had been in more than his fair share of detentions, but Dumbledore had never before visited him at home.

"Professor," he began, his palms becoming damp with perspiration, "Have I done something wrong?"

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, "I would imagine so, Mr. Weasley, but that is now why I am here." Ron released a deep breath. "I am here to see your rat. Please fetch him for me."

"Why do you need to see Scabbers?" Ron inquired.

"I must perform a simple test on the creature. If nothing is out of the ordinary, he will be returned to you immediately," Dumbledore informed him.

Ron nodded his head slowly. "Alright. I'll go get him."

Several minutes later, Ron returned to the kitchen empty-handed. Dumbledore looked at him inquiringly and he shrugged. "I couldn't find him."

Dumbledore nodded his head resignedly, his expression grave. He believed the boy to be telling the truth. "Very well. Do let me know if you find him."

Dumbledore said his goodbyes and left the Burrow, feeling considerably worse than he had only moments before.

He had initially avoided casting any spells to locate the rat, as they would have alerted Pettigrew to his intentions. He had cast the spell anyway after the unsuccessful search. Wormtail had fled.

Dumbledore had known all along that Voldemort would one day return. He held no illusions that Pettigrew would do anything other than try to find his former Master.

Voldemort would likely be returning earlier than anticipated, and he feared what that would mean for the world. In the end, it would come down to Voldemort and Harry. The latter had as much potential as the former, but Dumbledore had been hoping for more time to train him to ensure his survival.

Perhaps he would need to expedite his plans.

* * *

Harry Potter was having the best summer of his life. He was living with his Godfather, the fugitive Sirius Black, at his ancestral home. He had connected with the man almost immediately. He supposed they were two of a kind. He had been deprived of love for most of his life, and had not known friendship until he met Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. Sirius had been detested by his family because he did not accept their beliefs or uphold their tradition. Like Harry, Sirius had always considered Hogwarts home.

They spent hours at a time talking. Harry told Sirius about his adventures during his first two years at school, and Sirius regaled him with stories about his father and the pranks they played while they attended Hogwarts.

The stories certainly helped Harry to understand Severus Snape. He still recalled the man's strange behavior when they had first become acquainted. The Potions Master had seemed to be terribly conflicted. He now knew that his father had spent the better part of seven years tormenting the man, and Snape had reciprocated, heightening the rivalry. He considered himself lucky that his professor had judged him on his own merits and not on any preconceptions formed because of his father.

Since Grimmauld Place was a magical home, it was not traced by the Ministry. It would be up to his guardian to ensure that he did not perform magic, and Sirius seemed disinclined to do any sort of prevention. In fact, Sirius had agreed enthusiastically to help Harry practice his dueling.

"It'll be great, Harry. Your father and I practiced dueling all the time. We were the two best duelists in Hogwarts… Well, us and Snape," he reluctantly admitted.

They spent a great deal of time practicing. Filius had already taught Harry quite a bit about the subject, but dueling was a skill best improved by repetition.

When they started, Harry had been thoroughly outclassed by his Godfather. Sirius was rusty from his time spent in Azkaban, but his years of practice during school and against Death Eaters in the First War were obvious. By the end of the summer, Harry was still not quite a match for his Godfather, but it was a much closer contest. He would probably be able to defeat him in a duel after another year under Filius' tutelage at Hogwarts.

He owled Hermione to tell her that he was no longer living with the Dursleys, but was unable to be very specific. It would have been unwise to disclose his current living arrangements in a letter. Her reply had indicated that she was frustrated at being kept out of the loop, but understood the necessity.

* * *

Harry made his way to Diagon Alley as soon as his book list arrived. He was able to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron from Grimmauld Place and avoid another trip on the Knight Bus. He hoped Stan Shunpike would not miss him too terribly, as he planned to use other modes of transportation whenever possible.

The trip was unexpectedly uneventful. He had hoped to run into Daphne again, but was unable to find her.

* * *

The morning Harry was supposed to leave for Hogwarts, he rose early and ran downstairs for breakfast. Sirius was a surprisingly early riser, and if Harry wanted his meal to be warm, he had to wake up earlier than he ever did at school.

Sirius sat alone at the table, his eyes downcast. "It's going to be awfully lonely around here without you, Harry."

Harry did not know how to feel about the apparent depression of his Godfather. He was obviously saddened by Sirius' predicament, but it felt strangely wonderful that there was an adult who was almost family who genuinely cared about him and valued his company. _If only that damned rat hadn't gotten away, _he thought, _Sirius would be able to bring me to King's Cross. _

After they finished eating, Sirius looked up suddenly, a grin plastered on his face. "How about one last duel before we leave?"

Harry returned the smile and said, "I wondered when you'd ask. You know you won't be able to beat me anymore by the time I get back home."

"You're on, kiddo," Sirius said, ruffling Harry's hair.

They made their way to the basement room Sirius had transformed into a dueling arena, and bowed to each other formally. They began exchanging spells. The duel lasted for minutes with Sirius slowly but surely forcing Harry back.

"_Impedimenta!_" Sirius yelled. The spell broke through Harry's shield and slowed his movement. "_Expelliarmus!_" Harry's wand was wrenched from his hand and Sirius snatched it out of the air, grinning broadly.

Harry cursed under his breath. Refusing to accept defeat so easily, he extended his arm and forced his magic to lash out, banishing Sirius into the wall on the far side of the room. The older man grunted loudly as the burst of magic hit him in the gut.

Harry grimaced as he saw his godfather fly across the room. He had not meant to be so rough. He ran over to check on his condition, worrying that he had harmed the man. "Sirius, are you alright?"

He coughed as he opened his eyes and said, "Neat trick, that."

Harry grinned sheepishly, and told Sirius about his early experiences with magic and how he had managed to reach his internal power.

Sirius had a rare contemplative look on his face as he listened to Harry's story. "I think you've reached the limit of wandless magic, Harry. Very few people can do any of it at all. Dumbledore can do a bit, but he can't send someone flying across the room like you just did."

"You don't think I'll be able to learn any more wandless magic?"

Sirius shook his head. "There's a reason wizards use wands. They amplify and focus our own natural power. That you can do as much as you can without a wand is amazing. Damn useful in a fight, too," he finished, grinning.

"Sure is," Harry said with a smirk. "Especially when your opponent thinks the fight is won."

"You know," Sirius said thoughtfully, "This may be why you have so much control over your magic and so much raw power. I've never met a rising third year with so much ability."

Harry nodded his head. He had quite a bit of information to consider.

* * *

As Harry prepared to catch the Knight Bus (he wondered why King's Cross did not have a Floo connection) Sirius caught him in a tight embrace. "You'd better not forget this," Sirius said, reaching a hand into his robes and withdrawing a piece of parchment. "They won't let you into Hogsmeade without a guardian's signed permission."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said, returning the embrace enthusiastically. He would truly miss his Godfather at Hogwarts. "The holidays aren't too far from now. I'll be home before you know it."

* * *

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express with a sigh, somehow wishing that he and Daphne could have had some time together like they had last year. He wandered down the hallway looking for Hermione.

He finally found her in a compartment with an older man wearing frayed robes. He was sleeping soundly, but a battered case indicated that his name was RJ Lupin.

The pair hugged quickly before taking seats facing the sleeping man. "Who do you think he is?" she asked, keeping her voice low out of consideration for the man.

Harry smiled viciously, "I'd wager he's the new Defense professor. Lockhart didn't seem too keen on continuing after I blasted him at the dueling club."

Hermione giggled lightly, "No he didn't. He had a twitch," she said, pointing below her left eye, "Right here. It was kind of hard to see, but he got it whenever he was around you."

Harry struggled to contain his laughter, hoping to avoid waking the professor. "How was your summer, Hermione?"

"You first. I want to know why you aren't living with your relatives anymore."

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long story.

He told an abridged version of his summer, excluding the name of his Godfather and their residence in case the sleeping professor overheard.

By the time he finished recounting the tale, the sun had faded beyond the horizon and a thick cloud cover made the night especially dark.

Harry's instincts told him that something was amiss even before the train slowed down and ground to a halt hours before they reached their destination. A sense of foreboding permeated the air as the glass on the compartment door frosted over. An unnatural, cool breeze circulated through the train. A feeling of dread and unease overcame him.

A stream of disjointed memories cycled through his vision.

_He was on his back in the Chamber of Secrets, held under Tom Riddle's wand. Weak. Helpless._

_Daphne was prone on a sterile hospital bed, her blue eyes looking forward but not seeing. So lifeless._

_He looked up at his Aunt Petunia. Uncaring. His relative, but never his family._

_A woman, his mother, begged for his life to be spared, eyes shining with a mixture of fear and love. Love for him. Extinguished forever by a jet of green light._

* * *

Daphne sat alone in a compartment near the back of the train, and found herself reliving the horrors of her past.

_She looked into a pair of bulbous yellow eyes in an old mirror, and then knew nothing._

_She sat, too stunned to react, as a ball of metal and an explosive piece of magic crashed into Harry._

_She stood in front of her grandmother's casket. She was alone._

_Her parents walked past her without even looking down. Never worth their time. Relations by blood only._

* * *

"Dementors," Harry said, clutching his wand tightly. "It has to be dementors."

Hermione bit her lower lip nervously and ran her fingers through her hair. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, his face grim but determined. "I'm not going to let them into this compartment." He raised his wand with some hesitation, recalling his earlier lessons with Filius. Powered by emotions and happy memories, it was one of the few spells he had ever struggled to cast. At the time, he had not possessed a memory capable of producing more than a faint silver mist. He had not attempted this spell in a while, though he was confident his new memory was going to work. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A brilliant silver stag burst forth from his wand at the same moment the compartment door slid open. A dementor attempted to glide into the compartment, but collided with the form of Harry's Patronus and was forced back.

The feeling of dread slowly vacated the area as the dementor fled. Harry supposed he could not have chosen a better time to successfully complete the spell. Silently, he willed the stag to go help the others.

* * *

Daphne's vision returned to normal as an ethereal stag walked through the door she had locked and stood beside her. Her guest could not have arrived at a more opportune moment, she decided. Only moments before, she had felt herself losing consciousness.

The ordeal left her with two questions. Who had decided it would be wise to release dementors on a train of school children, and whose Patronus had chased them away?

* * *

Hermione's eyes were wide as she stared at Harry incredulously. "How did you do that? You weren't able to manage the Patronus Charm last year!"

"I was using a new memory. I just remembered how it felt to learn I could live with my Godfather."

On hearing that, RJ Lupin's eyes shot open. The effect of the dementors had, apparently, awakened him.

"My apologies Mister Potter, but I was under the impression you were living with your Muggle relatives."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How is that any of your concern, Mister Lupin?"

Lupin sighed, afraid that he had ruined his relationship with Harry before it had a chance to get started. "My apologies, but I happen to know your Godfather."

"How do you know him?" he asked with some genuine curiosity. This man looked too old to have gone to school with his father and Sirius.

"We were friends at one time. At least, I thought we were."

Sirius had told Harry countless stories from his Hogwarts days- stories about James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. His Godfather tried to minimize the rat's roles in most of his stories, but could not always get around mentioning him. James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. He only knew the traitor's full name because Sirius had used it under Veritaserum. He tried to recall the surname of the other friend. He looked down at the man's case. _RJ Lupin._ _Could this possibly be Remus?_ Harry asked himself.

"Mr. Lupin, there is a very common misconception about my Godfather's past. Perhaps you should ask the Headmaster about his history when you have a chance."

Lupin's eyes widened as he heard Harry defend the traitor. _What's happening? Does Dumbledore know something about this? _"I'll do that as soon as we get to Hogwarts."

The rest of the trip went by quickly. Harry and Hermione attempted to make conversation with the man they confirmed to be their new Defense professor, but Harry decided to keep his distance from this man until he learned more about him. The professor had been very impressed by Harry's corporeal Patronus.

Harry walked with Hermione to the carriages they would ride to the castle. They were pulled, he noticed, by skeletal, winged horses. His unorthodox arrival at the castle during his second year meant that this would be his first time riding one of the carriages.

His study of magical creatures was somewhat limited, as he and Hermione had decided to forgo Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, and he had never before seen such an animal. "What are the things pulling the carriages, Hermione?"

"They're thestrals. Brilliant creatures, but they frighten most people. You can't see them unless you've seen someone die."

"Quirrel," he said, knowing they had both seen him die.

She inclined her head slightly. "Yes."

* * *

Daphne sat at the end of the Slytherin table during the Welcome Feast. No one had tried to sit next to her this year. She took particular pleasure in seeing Draco Malfoy walk past her quickly, avoiding eye contact. She had struggled to suppress her laughter when the boy fearfully avoided her. She supposed he had taken their last conversation to heart.

She sighed as she considered the upcoming school year. She would visit the Mirror tonight, she decided. _And perhaps I can see it again tomorrow night if I skip Astronomy._


	13. Chapter 12

Harry and Hermione both decided to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as their electives. While they did not consider the classes to be among their favorites, they did find them enjoyable. Hermione appreciated the intellectual challenge of the courses, and Harry valued the ways in which they could be practically applied to other courses.

Ancient Runes, in particular, provided him with a better understanding of how magic actually functioned, and that knowledge was capable of making him more powerful.

Harry's first lesson with Filius was far more intense than his previous instruction under the jovial Charms Master had been.

"Due to recent events, the Headmaster has asked me to advance your instruction," he said, with a slight frown on his face. "Are you ready for that?" Harry nodded. "I'm afraid you may not understand what this means. I will no longer be teaching you dueling techniques or even anything from the Hogwarts curriculum. I will be teaching you how to fight- how to maim or, if necessary, kill. Can you handle that?"

Harry's face was set with grim determination. "Yes, sir."

"Poppy will be observing all our lessons, as we will be using everything short of lethal force against each other."

It was a battered Harry Potter who returned to his dorm that night. The school matron had healed most of his numerous wounds, and he was pleased to see that the Charms Master had not fared much better. His lessons with Sirius had really paid dividends.

The next day was his first lesson with Professor Lupin. The man had not spoken with him since their conversation on the train, and Harry wondered if he had talked with the Headmaster.

"Good morning class," Lupin said with a kind smile. "Put your quills away. We'll be starting with a practical session." The class broke out in excited whispers, wondering if this would be anything like Lockhart's first and only practical lesson. "If you'll follow me."

The class assembled in a room Harry had not yet visited. Lupin walked to the front of the room and stood beside a dilapidated chest. "Are any of you familiar with boggarts?"

He proceeded to tell them that the chest held a boggart and what they were to do when he released it.

"Who's first?"

Most of the class rushed forward, but Harry stood back in contemplation. _What is my worst fear? _he asked himself. He remembered his experience with the dementors earlier in the year. Were his worst memories also his worst fears? He hated those memories, despised them even, but no, he did not fear them. The past was fixed- there was no reason to fear it. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to determine what he feared most.

His thoughts were interrupted as he was pushed forward by one of his fellow Ravenclaws, _Boot,_ he believed.

The boggart, which was currently in the form of a thestral with leaden wings, fixed its eyes on Harry and began to shift.

The result of its seamless metamorphosis left Harry confused. The boggart had taken the shape of Hermione. _Why does it think I'm afraid of Hermione? _He looked more carefully at the boggart-Hermione and saw a look that he had never before seen on his best friend's face- a look of pure, undisguised loathing.

He reeled back and the boggart shifted again. The bushy brown hair and brown eyes of his best friend were replaced by the dark black locks and cobalt eyes of Daphne Greengrass. She glared directly at him, and there was nothing playful about the glare. This Daphne despised him.

He took another step back, and the boggart changed again. It assumed the form of his Godfather, who stared down at him. His look was not one of hatred, but one of indifference. It was the same stare he had received from the Dursleys for over a decade. It was a look that said his Godfather did not give a damn about him and could never love him.

On seeing the boggart take the shape of Sirius Black, Professor Lupin leapt in front of Harry. Sirius disappeared to be replaced with a full moon, which he quickly vanquished. "Alright, class. That's all for today."

Lupin walked beside Harry as he was leaving the room. "Harry, would you stay behind for a moment?"

Harry nodded absently, silently cursing himself for his earlier inaction. He knew that the boggart would bring his worst fears to life, but he had not been prepared for it. "What is it, Professor?"

Lupin placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. Wizards much more experienced than you have been reduced to nothing in the face of a boggart."

"Yes, sir," Harry said without enthusiasm.

"I mean it, Harry. I believe you could have defeated the creature, but I couldn't risk giving the rest of the class time to recognize your Godfather."

Harry looked up at the man. "So, you do know Sirius, then?"

Lupin chuckled mirthlessly, "Of course. We were best friends, after all."

"You're Remus," Harry stated.

"Yes, I am. I've spoken with the Headmaster about your living arrangements. About Sirius." Harry nodded for him to continue. For the first time, Remus looked nervous, but there was something more. He was ashamed. "When you see him again… Tell him that Moony is sorry for not believing in him."

"He'll forgive you, Professor."

"I know he will, but I don't know if I can forgive myself."

Harry hesitated a moment, knowing his next question could upset the man even more. "Professor, from all of Sirius' stories, I know that the four of you were best friends at school. Everyone thought Sirius had betrayed my parents and that Pettigrew was dead, so it's obvious why I didn't live with them. Why didn't you take me?"

Remus sighed at Harry's question, but knew it was a fair one. "I must ask you not to tell anyone what I'm about to reveal to you. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have a condition, Harry," he started. He paused for a second, and decided to get straight to the point. "I am a werewolf."

_That explains the moon,_ Harry thought. "Wouldn't have been any worse than the Dursleys," he joked.

Remus chuckled, relieved that Harry did not seem to care about his disease. "Perhaps not. Well, you'd better get to your next class. Wouldn't want to be late." As Harry left the room, Remus ran his hands through his thinning hair, anticipating his next meeting with Sirius Black.

* * *

Severus Snape walked briskly to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had summoned him, telling him that it was urgent.

"Severus, please have a seat," Dumbledore said softly.

"What's this about, Albus?"

"Voldemort will be returning much sooner than we had anticipated." Snape sighed, having expected something like that. "When he does, you need to return to him immediately. Your position cannot be jeopardized."

Snape nodded. "I understand."

"I have begun assembling the old crew. We must be ready. Filius is already instructing Harry on fighting, but it would be beneficial if you assisted. There are certain areas of magic you are more… uniquely suited to teach. Will you help him?"

"Yes."

* * *

The excitement was palpable on the morning of Harry's first Hogsmeade visit. He had done a bit of exploring in Diagon Alley, but he had never even visited the wizarding village.

He and Hermione awoke early that crisp October morning and made the trip to the village. They went to Honeydukes and purchased their fill of sweets, before going to the Three Broomsticks for Butterbeers.

They headed back to the castle early in the afternoon, already tired of what the village had to offer. It was nice to be outside the castle, but Hogsmeade did not compare favorably to Diagon Alley.

The trip was uneventful. Draco Malfoy had glared at Harry and Hermione, but walked off heatedly when they did not say anything. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to take any action against Harry.

* * *

Lord Voldemort detested his current form. It was too weak- too fragile. But he knew it was one step closer to the body he had once possessed, so he was willing to accept it, for the time being.

He looked down from his chair at the quivering man who kneeled before him. "Rise, Wormtail. Is everything going as planned?"

"Yes, Master," Pettigrew said, his voice quavering.

"Very good. You will bring me Harry Potter, and I shall rise again," Voldemort said, cackling. "Are you ready to perform the ritual?"

"Yes, Master."

"You have retrieved my wand?"

Wormtail collapsed onto his knees again, reaching a pudgy hand into his robe and retrieving the wand of yew. He outstretched his hand to the childlike body of Voldemort, who took his wand reverently.

"You have done well, Wormtail. You shall be rewarded." Voldemort laughed maliciously as he plotted his course of action. "Harry Potter will not have a fourth year at Hogwarts."

* * *

Harry decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. He had never before returned to Privet Drive for Christmas, and did not want to arouse suspicion by going back to Grimmauld Place for the break. He had mailed Sirius about his decision. His Godfather was upset, but agreed with Harry's reasoning. Fortunately, Hermione agreed to stay at Hogwarts with him.

Harry spent most of the break studying apparition. The theory behind it was simple enough- destination, determination, deliberation. He was confident in his ability to actually apparate, but he would not have an opportunity to actually practice it. Apparition within Hogwarts was impossible, and he would prefer to attempt it with someone else, in case something went wrong. He would be out of luck if he splinched himself in Hogsmeade. He decided to wait until the summer so Sirius could help him.

He was worried about Daphne. Her hair was tangled and she had dark circles under her eyes. Harry would have guessed that she had been forsaking sleep for the sake of studying, but he knew that her marks were also suffering. He considered Daphne to be a friend, one of his only friends in fact, though he was not sure what she thought of him, so he would try to find out what was wrong with her.

Another Hogsmeade visit was scheduled for the students staying at the castle. Harry was not particularly excited about this one, but decided to visit the village anyway. The castle was dreadfully boring with most of the students gone.

"So, when will I get to meet your Godfather?" Hermione asked, as they walked toward the Three Broomsticks.

"This summer, probably. Do you really think your parents would let you visit?" He felt guilty about not telling her who his Godfather was, but he did not know how to reveal it without giving her a heart attack. His real worry was that if he told her, others would find out as well. He did trust her, but Sirius was safer if less people knew.

"Of course they would. They're always telling me to get out of the house more."

The pair made their way inside the pub, and sat down at a table near the back. They overheard a hushed conversation going on at a table near them. Cornelius Fudge and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had not noticed them arrive.

"We need to tell him," Filius said. "He's ready to know. He deserves to know."

"No," Fudge ordered. "He must not find out. We can't have him going on a search for Black."

"Harry Potter is mature beyond his years," McGonagall said. "He can handle the truth."

"That may be the case, but we can't take the risk of telling him that Sirius Black is the reason his parents are dead," Fudge said with conviction.

"The man is his Godfather," Filius reminded the Minister. "He has a right to know his family's history."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock as she stared at Harry. As her shock wore off, her eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you tell me that your Godfather is Sirius Black?" she asked, her voice filled with quiet anger.

Harry spent the rest of their visit to the pub explaining his current situation, and why he had not yet told her about the status of his Godfather. She was still angry, but at least understood his position.

* * *

"Harry," Remus began after a Defense class, "Would you mind staying for a bit?"

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked curiously, after the other students had left.

"I confiscated a rather unusual piece of parchment from a couple of Gryffindors. It is something that I think should belong to you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What is it?"

"I think it would be best if I showed you." He went back to his desk and removed a yellowed piece of parchment. He pointed his wand at it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." It changed before Harry's eyes to a glorious map, the Marauder's Map, displaying the entire castle and all its occupants' current locations.

"Wow," he said, his voice filled with awe.

"Wow, indeed. Use it wisely," he instructed, pointing his wand back at the map. "Mischief managed."

* * *

Harry sat on his bed late that night with the curtains closed around him, staring at the Marauder's Map. The detail was simply extraordinary. The only thing missing, as far as he could tell, was the Chamber of Secrets, and there would have been no way for any of the Marauders to discover it.

His eyes scanned over the parchment, examining the rooms he had not known existed. He looked at the third floor corridor, the room where he had encountered the three-headed dog his first year. His eyes traced the path he had ran that night and found the room where he discovered the Mirror of Erised. In that room currently, was a dot labeled "Daphne Greengrass."

Harry ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. _I knew something was wrong. I should have realized, _he thought. _I have to help her._

He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and made his way to the Mirror Room, where he was now convinced Daphne had been spending most of her time.

He walked up behind Daphne and removed the Cloak quickly, expecting to startle her. No reaction. "How's it going Greengrass?" Daphne did not respond, or even acknowledge his presence. Harry kneeled down in front of her, and looked into her blue eyes. They were glazed over, and unaware of his presence, unaware even that he had blocked her view of the Mirror. "You in there, Greengrass?" he asked. Nothing.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and shook her lightly. No response. Harry was truly worried now. "Come on, Daphne. I know you can see me. Answer me, please," he pleaded, a tear rolling down his cheek. She did not seem to notice. Harry's mind traveled back to the first time he had seen her after she had been petrified. The memory was eerily similar to the Daphne he was currently looking at, yet quite different. When she was petrified, she had been frozen- almost locked in her own body. Now, she seemed to be catatonic. The real similarity was in her eyes. In both instances, her eyes looked lifeless.

"Please Daphne, come back to us. Come back to me," he whispered, shaking her more forcefully. He considered destroying the Mirror, but remembered Dumbledore's words.

_There are some problems we must solve for ourselves, Harry. I did Miss Greengrass a disservice by removing the Mirror last year._

_She has to do it herself, _he thought.

He embraced her, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please Daphne, fight this." He looked at her eyes again, just in time to see them snap back into focus.

She looked around quickly, as if just noticing her surroundings. "You can let go of me now, Potter."

Harry blushed, and immediately released her. They both stood up. "You've got to destroy it, Greengrass."

Daphne's eyes widened in terror at the idea, before she sighed and nodded in resignation. "You're right. It almost had me that time." She looked at him, her posture conveying her fear. "Will you help me?" she asked, her voice small.

Harry nodded. "Always."

Daphne pointed her wand at the Mirror, and Harry followed suit. With two identical yells of "_Reducto!_" the Mirror exploded in a shower of glass.

Daphne looked down at the tiny shards of glass and looked back up at Harry. She took a tentative step toward him, and small smile on her lips, before her face became confused. She examined Harry carefully, before glaring at him and running out of the room.

Harry sat on the floor, not even noticing the glass that cut into his palms. _That glare was the same as the boggart's._

* * *

Daphne collapsed onto her bed, feeling more confused than she ever remembered being. The Mirror, Potter, Dumbledore, her grandmother- disjointed images circled through her mind, but everything came back to her own weakness. If only she had been stronger, this whole situation could have been avoided. _Though, _she thought, _it was rather nice to regain consciousness in Potter's arms. _She squashed that thought immediately.

She knew that she did not blame Potter for any of this mess. If anything, he had saved her. But she could not stand the way he made her feel so vulnerable. After the Mirror was destroyed, she had almost kissed him, which was something she could not allow. She could not allow herself to need another person.

She would have to stay away from him in order to protect herself, even if she hated herself for it. There was no other way. _But is it really worth it?_

* * *

Harry went through the motions for the next few weeks. Whenever he saw Daphne, she would refuse to meet his gaze. He was saddened to see that all the progress he had made with her was, seemingly, gone.

His lessons with Filius had trained him into a proper fighter. He was regularly getting the better of the Charms Master during their fights.

Snape had joined them on a few occasions, and taught Harry some darker aspects of magic. Filius was brilliant, but he had never delved into the Dark Arts like Snape. The Potions Master also taught him silent spellcasting. He was not yet a master in the art, but was more capable than many people ever became.

Harry suspected he would be training with Dumbledore during his fourth year. As skilled as his professors were, he was surpassing them.

* * *

Wormtail was fortunate to know the secrets of the castle as well as he did. He snuck through the cellar at Honeydukes and made his way inside Hogwarts in his Animagus form. He crawled to the base of Ravenclaw tower and waited for someone to open the damned passageway. He was never clever enough to answer any riddles himself.

When a younger Ravenclaw entered the tower alone, Wormtail sprinted in behind him, careful to avoid the people in the tower. He quickly found the dormitory for third year boys, and dashed inside. He changed into his human form and cast a disillusionment charm as quietly as he could manage. He had never mastered silent spellcasting. He found the trunk with Harry's initials and sifted through it, finding a well-worn course book. He pointed his wand at the book and mouthed, "_Portus._" He placed the book back in the trunk and changed back into his Animagus form to make his escape and return to his Master.

* * *

Harry awoke to a sense of foreboding. Today was not going to be a good day. He went through his morning routine, keeping his wand on his person the entire time. He went to his trunk to grab the books he would need for the day. That his trunk had been rearranged hardly had time to register in his mind before he picked up the first book and felt a tug behind his naval.

_A portkey_, Harry realized, as he observed his new surroundings. He was standing in an overgrown graveyard, with an imposing manor in the background. The place had not been cared for in many years. It was day, but imposing storm clouds kept it relatively dark. Rain pounded down on the cemetery.

In the distance, Harry saw a figure carrying a bundle in its arms approaching him. Near them sat a simmering cauldron, protected from the rain by a magical shield.

"Harry Potter," the bundle wheezed.

"Sorry to just drop in like this," Harry said.

"I am glad you could join us here. You shall give me new life, along with the bones of my Muggle father, and the flesh of Wormtail here."

Immediately, Harry realized who was speaking to him. "This again, Tom? Are we going to go through the conversation about how we're so similar, or are we going to skip ahead to the fight?"

The Dark Lord chuckled, "Seize him, Wormtail, but do not kill him. That privilege is mine."

Wormtail sat Voldemort on the ground slowly, careful to make sure he was comfortable.

By the time Pettigrew turned to face Harry, he was already the target of spellfire.

A thin beam of purple light erupted from Harry's wand. Harry cast the spell silently, but Wormtail recognized it as a Rupturing Curse, something which would have likely killed him quite painfully if it made contact. He dove to the ground, doubting his ability to shield against the curse.

Wormtail was unable to regain his footing quickly, and Harry took advantage of his poor positioning. "_Perfringo!_" A sickly bolt of orange collided with the older man's shoulder and shattered the bones.

Wormtail cried out in pain, and considered fleeing, but cast a surreptitious look at his Master and knew that was not an option. He rose shakily to his feet, and pointed his wand at the son of his former best friend. "_Stupefy!_"

Harry silently erected a magical shield which absorbed the spell easily, before pointing his wand at the man's legs and returning fire. _"Confringo!_"

The explosive piece of magic hurtled at Wormtail who tried to shield, knowing he would be unable to avoid the explosion. "_Protego!_" The mist-like shield was overpowered by Harry's spell which collided with Wormtail's lower body. Harry felt the shockwave of his spell before he saw Pettigrew collapse to the ground, his useless limbs no longer able to support his weight.

Wormtail sobbed loudly as he looked at what had once been a functional set of legs. _Master will fix them after I capture the boy,_ he thought. Wormtail pointed his wand across his body to try again.

"_Discerpo,_" Harry intoned, pointing his wand at the traitor's wand hand. Wormtail's pitiable screams became louder as his hand was severed from his arm. The last thing Peter Pettigrew saw before he lost consciousness from blood loss was his Master taking aim with his yew wand.

As soon as Wormtail had been dispatched, Harry was overcome by an intense, paralyzing pain in his scar and was consumed by a rage that was not his own. He knew he would not be able to fight in his present condition and that he had to escape. _Destination, Determination, Deliberation. _He focused his full attention on the Hogwarts gates.

Just as Harry disappeared from the graveyard, he heard the Dark Lord shout, "_Diffindo,_" and felt the burst of magic slice into his arm.

He reappeared in front of the Hogwarts gates, just as he had intended. His first attempt at apparition had been successful, and as far as he could tell he had not left any part of himself behind. The crippling pain he had experienced moments earlier had lifted when he escaped the Dark Lord's presence. He inspected the cut on his arm, and determined that, though the injury was bleeding, it was very minor. The Dark Lord was in a critically weakened state.

Harry began sprinting up the hill toward Hogwarts to tell the Headmaster what had happened.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was furious. Harry Potter had escaped his clutches again, and to make matters worse, he had nearly killed his only servant. He was now forced to use all the magic he had available to him to keep the rodent alive. Cursing the boy had taken its toll on him, but the action had been necessary. He needed the blood of his foe, after all.

Wormtail had already lost one hand and would likely lose both of his legs, though the Dark Lord believed he would be able to mend them temporarily. Beyond that, Pettigrew was of little use to him.

Though Voldemort's power was severely limited, his magical knowledge was still intact. Healing was difficult, not because it required a substantial amount of power, but because it took extensive practice to master. Voldemort waved his wand at his servant, who was slowly regaining consciousness. Pettigrew's wounds were by no means healed, but he would be able to serve his purpose.

"Finish the ritual, Wormtail. You will find Potter's blood on the ground over there," he said, pointing a skeletal finger at the place where Harry had been struck.

Pettigrew groaned in pain as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He collected his Lord and placed him in the cauldron he had prepared. He used a bone from Voldemort's Muggle father, the blood his Master had taken from Potter, and his own hand that had been cursed. The cauldron smoked and bubbled after the ingredients had been added. When the smoke cleared, Voldemort had risen again.

* * *

Harry pounded furiously on the Headmaster's door. He wondered if anyone had missed him this morning, though he doubted it. He had not been gone any more than an hour.

"Enter."

Harry rushed through the door, and Dumbledore immediately noticed his disheveled, bloodied appearance. "What has happened, Harry?"

"Voldemort. Voldemort and Pettigrew. They portkeyed me to some graveyard. I fought him, Pettigrew, that is. They were trying to bring Voldemort back to life-"

"My dear boy, you are rambling. Would you provide me with the memory to review in my Pensieve?"

Harry nodded once, and brought his wand to his temple to collect the memory. He placed the silver strand in the Pensieve that Dumbledore had placed on his desk, and the Headmaster immediately began viewing the memory. Harry managed to collect himself while Dumbledore was viewing his fight.

Moments later, Dumbledore emerged, his face looking grave. "I fear that Voldemort has returned."

"What do you mean? I beat Pettigrew, and escaped from them."

"You performed admirably, Harry, but the ritual Voldemort planned required your blood. He took that as you were leaving."

Harry's eyes widened as he realized that Dumbledore was right. "What can we do?"

"We will attempt to prevent him from gaining the level of power he had during the last war. I have already gathered the Order of the Phoenix, an organization dedicated to the eradication of Voldemort and his followers."

"Can I join, sir?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, considering his answer. "I believe so, yes. The Order will be using Grimmauld Place as its Headquarters, so you will be able to attend meetings this summer. I will keep you informed during the school year."

Harry nodded, glad that he was being allowed to participate in the coming war, but he had one more concern. "Professor, I don't think I can fight Voldemort right now. He was very weak today, but he was able to torture me through my scar. I felt his anger."

Dumbledore's eyes widened momentarily. "You have previously expressed interest in learning Occlumency. I believe the time for your instruction in the art has arrived."

"Will that keep Voldemort from using my scar against me?"

"I do not believe he realized that your scar caused you pain today, Harry. And I believe that if you learn Occlumency, he will lose that advantage in the future."

* * *

The rest of the year passed in a surprisingly uneventful fashion, in that there were no further attempts on his life. Voldemort was staying off the radar, and not yet causing any trouble.

He went through his exams, and he and Hermione once again fought for the top spot in each of their classes.

As Harry climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, he finally managed to catch Daphne Greengrass' eye. The look she gave him was not one of malice, or even anger. She looked… regretful. It did not match the smile she had given him at the end of the previous year, but it was an improvement.

He and Hermione found a compartment and began recounting stories from the last three years. Harry was going to miss Hogwarts this summer, but at least he would get to see Sirius again. For the first time in his life, he had something to look forward to during the holidays.

He stepped aboard the Knight Bus, wishing that Sirius could have picked him up or that he could have apparated to Grimmauld Place. Sirius was still a fugitive, and it would not be proper for an underage wizard to be seen apparating, so he reluctantly paid Stan Shunpike another visit.

* * *

Daphne had spent the latter part of the school year trying to undo the damage that had been done to her marks by the Mirror's influence. She was thankful to be free of its control.

Her only real problem now was Harry Potter. She had tried to push him away, like she had done with everyone else. With the rest of the world, the process had been all too easy, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to stay away from Harry. She missed their playful banter and the closeness they were slowly establishing.

She spent a good deal of her time regretting her decision to push him away, and knew she would not be able to keep up her charade forever. If he did not come to her seeking reconciliation, she would likely go to him and ask for forgiveness.


	14. Chapter 13

Severus Snape sat alone in his home at Spinner's End. His Dark Mark had been growing darker over the past weeks, and he expected his former Master to call him at any moment. He remembered Dumbledore's request that he return to Voldemort whenever he called. As much as he detested his work as a spy, he knew it was needed, and would do as Dumbledore wished.

When he felt his Mark start to burn, he apparated to Voldemort, and found himself in the sitting room of what was once an impressive manor house. A faded bronze chandelier hung above a worn Oriental rug in the center of the room. The Dark Lord stood in the far corner, observing his followers with his crimson red eyes. He stood taller than all his Death Eaters, dressed in resplendent black robes, and holding his yew wand loosely at his side.

Peter Pettigrew cowered in Voldemort's shadow. He was missing a hand, and standing unsteadily, as if he were not used to it. Snape surmised that Voldemort had not been kind to the man after his failure in the graveyard.

"It has been too long, my friends," said Voldemort, his voice smooth and even. "For thirteen years, I roamed the world as less than a ghost. For thirteen years, none of you sought to aid in my return. Was I not a benevolent Master?"

"I came back," Pettigrew offered, groveling at his Master's feet.

"Out of fear, not loyalty Wormtail," he said, looking down at the rat. He looked back up to address his assembled servants. "You, my most faithful followers, knew I had conquered death. Yet, none of you sought me. Have you so easily forsaken the old ways? What of you, Macnair?" Voldemort asked, stepping toward one of the men, who immediately went prostrate. "Is putting down wild beasts at the Ministry's command all that you desire?"

"No, my Lord," he said softly.

"Severus," Voldemort stood in front of Snape, who fell to his knees, "my most trusted servant. The old fool still believes you to be loyal to him, does he not?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent. We shall use that to our advantage." He rubbed his chin, considering who to address next, before walking silently in front of another man, who bowed before his Lord. "Ah, Lucius. I hear you are a respectable businessman now." He stared coldly into Malfoy's eyes. "I offer my apologies for placing you under the Imperius Curse all those years ago, though from my recollection, you seemed to serve quite willingly."

"I had no choice, my Lord," he said, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "I would have been imprisoned."

"My most faithful were imprisoned," he said, "Though that shall be remedied shortly. You have forsaken me, Lucius. Why should I spare you? Have you used your freedom to advance our noble cause?"

"Yes," he stammered, "My position at the Ministry is secure."

"You have sway with the Minister?" Voldemort asked, caressing his wand. Lucius nodded fervently. "Have you learned anything that can benefit us?"

"Yes, my Lord. It is a tightly kept secret, but Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. It will be an opportune moment to strike."

Voldemort was silent for a moment as he considered the opportunity. He nodded slowly and said, "That will fit into my plans." He walked away from Lucius and to the center of the room. He gazed at his followers, his gaze unnerving many of them. "Go now, my Death Eaters, but be ready. We shall have made our first move before the end of the summer."

Snape apparated away from the manor house to Grimmauld Place to tell Dumbledore about what had transpired.

"He seemed to be interested in the Tournament, Headmaster. What do you think he is planning?"

"I do not know, Severus," he said with a soft sight, "But we must be alert. We will need to be more careful. Voldemort trusts you more now than he did before his fall. The information he gives you will be more sensitive than that which he gave last time."

* * *

On Harry's first day back at Grimmauld Place, he and Sirius had dueled. His Godfather was capable in a fight, but Harry outclassed him now. Sirius had been incredibly proud, but Harry was sad that his Godfather could not teach him anything more.

As promised, Snape had visited to practice Occlumency.

"Occlumency is an obscure and difficult branch of magic. The key is compartmentalization. If your mind is organized, and free from emotion, a legilimens will be unable to successfully navigate it. Masters of the craft can prevent a legilimens from knowing it is being employed. After this step is mastered, you will work on shielding your thoughts. Clear your mind of emotions."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you ready?" Harry nodded. "_Legilimens!_" Harry felt images of his past being pulled to the front of his mind.

_Harry sat on his bed, cowering away from his cousin's beefy fist, before magically throwing the larger boy across his small bedroom._

_He stood victorious over Wormtail's broken body, but had no time to enjoy his triumph as his world darkened in pain._

_His lay helplessly on the ground, his arm broken, as a Bludger soared toward his head._

_He held Daphne's still body close to him in front of the Mirror of Erised, terrified that he had lost her forever._

_No, _Harry thought, _That's private. "Clear your mind of emotions," _he remembered hearing Snape say. He stopped focusing on the feelings he associated with his memories, and gradually, his mind became free of emotions. The memories stopped.

"Again," Snape said. "_Legilimens!_"

_Daphne smiled prettily, taking a step toward him before glaring at him and running away._

_Harry looked at Daphne from across the Great Hall and she looked away as soon as she noticed his gaze._

Harry allowed the feeling of hurt he associated with these images to fade and the memories stopped.

"Acceptable," Snape said, "For a first lesson. We will continue at a later date."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood before his staff as they discussed the upcoming year at Hogwarts.

"As some of you have already heard," he said, his eyes twinkling, "Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. Delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October."

"Albus," Professor McGonagall began, "Isn't the Tournament supposed to be dangerous?"

"Yes, Minerva, it is. That is why I will personally draw an age line around the Goblet of Fire to prevent any underage students from entering their names." He looked at the rest of the teachers. "The other schools will only be bringing students old enough to compete in the Tournament, so only the NEWT level courses will have additional students.

"Severus, Filius, I would like to thank you for the additional work you have done with Harry. I would ask that you continue instructing him in Occlumency and advanced Charms, but I will begin teaching him dueling this year."

"Yes, Headmaster," they both said.

After the meeting had concluded, Snape approached the Headmaster. "Albus, the Dark Lord has given me a… disturbing mission."

"What is it, Severus?"

"I am to enter Harry in the Tournament," he said with a sigh.

"Has Voldemort told you how to go about this?" Dumbledore asked.

"He recommended Confunding the Goblet and entering him under a fourth school."

"I believe that would prove to be successful, Severus."

"What should I do, Albus?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

"I will discuss this with Harry. If he consents, you must do as Voldemort requested. We cannot afford to have you exposed."

"What about Harry?"

"He is a very capable young man- the most capable duelist we have enrolled. He would likely be chosen on his own merits if he were allowed to enter. Nevertheless, I shall do everything in my power to make sure that he gets through the tournament unharmed. I will not allow any harm to befall him," Dumbledore said confidently. Internally, however, he was very nervous. He knew that the Dark Lord was planning something, but could not afford to lose his only spy within the Death Eaters. He could not, in good conscience, ask someone from the Order to join their ranks. He would gladly accept any Death Eater turncoats, but they were generally reluctant to come to him. Severus had, in fact, been the only one to find him.

He needed the information Severus provided through his position, so he would reluctantly allow Harry to participate in the Tournament, and protect him at any cost.

* * *

Remus Lupin walked nervously up the steps to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, preparing to see his best friend again. Under most circumstances, he would have been looking forward to the reunion. However, for the past thirteen years, he had believed that Sirius Black had betrayed his other friends. He had grown to hate Sirius, and for that, he hated himself.

When Dumbledore told him of Sirius' innocence, his first reaction had been disbelief. The evidence against him was overwhelming. After Dumbledore had explained Sirius' story, everything had fallen into place. The fact that Sirius was never given a trial further proved the point.

His disbelief had turned into excitement. He had his best friend back! For that past twelve years, he had believed that everyone he had ever cared for was dead. He cared about Harry, he supposed, but he had not spent any time with the child since Lily and James were killed. Sirius' innocence changed his entire existence.

That excitement soon became disgust. He had turned his back on his only remaining friend, without ever hearing his side of the story. He knew Sirius would forgive him, but did not think he deserved it.

He walked into the kitchen, and saw Sirius sitting alone at the table. "Padfoot."

Sirius looked up from his breakfast and saw the only real friend he had left. "Moony."

Remus slouched a bit at the cold greeting. "I'm so sorry, Sirius. I never should have believed you could-"

Sirius raised a hand, gesturing for him to stop. "Say no more, Remus," he said, as he stood up and rushed to embrace his friend. Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Daphne stood with her family in the forest outside of the Quidditch World Cup. It was important for her family to be seen interacting with high society at major events such as the World Cup. Her parents did not have to speak with her, so long as they were seen together.

She thought she saw Harry and Dumbledore walking to the top box, but she was not sure. She had wanted to greet him, and had been forced to restrain herself.

Her family found their seats, slightly lower in the packed stadium. She sighed softly as the game started. She did not particularly care for Quidditch.

* * *

Harry and Dumbledore sat in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup at the Minister for Magic's request. He looked around the box and saw a house elf, presumably saving a seat for her master. He noticed three empty seats near the Minister, and saw that the Weasley family was also there. He did not care for their youngest children, but the parents were loyal members of the Order.

"Albus, Harry, so glad you could make it," said the Minister.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Cornelius?" asked Dumbledore.

Fudge shook his head sadly, and said, "Truth be told, Albus, I've heard some rather disturbing rumors."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Apparently, you and Dumbledore are under the impression that He is back. He's not. He can't be. I must ask that you stop spreading this… this story."

Dumbledore sighed. He had expected something like this. "I will do what I must, and I expect you to do the same."

Fudge scowled, but said nothing further. They watched the game in what Harry considered to be an awkward silence, though Dumbledore seemed cheery and oblivious to his discomfort.

Harry was only a casual fan of Quidditch, but the match was fantastic. Viktor Krum was, without a doubt, the best flier he had ever seen. He considered himself to be a fair flier, but knew he was outclassed by the Bulgarian. The man looked like he was born on a broom, as he flew around the pitch with reckless abandon.

His skill, however, did not seem to be enough to enable the Bulgarians to win. The Irish Chasers were superb, and made their Bulgarian counterparts look foolish. By the time Krum managed to catch the Snitch, the game was already out of reach.

* * *

Barty Crouch Junior sat beside his house elf, under an Invisibility Cloak in the top box at the Quidditch World Cup. He had managed to break his father's Imperius Curse (he would kill the man for imprisoning him and trying to take away his free will), and was finally free. He overheard the Minister for Magic speaking with Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. They did not mention his Master's name, but the implications were clear. Potter and Dumbledore knew that the Dark Lord was back, and the Ministry was denying it.

He, of course, knew when he felt his Dark Mark burn that his Master walked once more with the living. He would find his Master, and he would bring with him Harry Potter's corpse.

* * *

"Harry," said Dumbledore, "The Minister and I have much to discuss. Would you consent to returning to Headquarters with Arthur?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Harry and the redheaded man began walking toward the apparition point to return to Grimmauld Place. "Harry," Mr. Weasley began, "I never had a chance to properly thank you for saving my daughter's life."

Harry had forgiven the girl for her foolishness, but he still did not like her. "You're welcome, Mr. Weasley."

* * *

Daphne was confused when she saw Harry leave the game with the Weasley patriarch. As far as she knew, Harry and the Weasleys did not get along very well.

As she watched them walk away, a man appeared out of thin air behind Harry and trained his wand on Harry's back.

"Harry, watch out!" she screamed, hoping she was not too late.

* * *

Harry heard someone call for him to watch out, and dove to the ground instinctively. He rolled over in time to see a sickly green light shoot over his prone form. The Killing Curse flew harmlessly into the forest.

Arthur Weasley knew that he was not much of a duelist, but that he had a duty to protect Harry. Besides, the boy had saved his daughter's life. "_Stupefy!_" Crouch deflected the stunner with ease, but the distraction proved to be too much.

Harry leapt to his feet, his wand aimed at the man who had just tried to kill him. "_Sectumsempra!_" Snape taught him the curse during one of their lessons, and had instructed him only to use it if he wanted to inflict severe damage on his target. Crouch, who still had his shield up after deflecting Arthur's spell, was unable to avoid the curse which shattered his shield.

The powerful curse struck Crouch like the slash of a sword, cutting into his flesh starting at his shoulder and ending near his waist. His face whitened instantly, as blood splattered out of his wound. Crouch looked at Harry with hatred, knowing he had been defeated. With the last of his strength, he apparated to safety.

Harry cursed as Crouch apparated. He had hoped to keep the man from escaping. He turned to Arthur. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley," he said sincerely. "You kept him occupied."

Mr. Weasley nodded absently, surveying the area for any more threats. Harry suspected that the attacker had been alone. If there were more of them, they would have all attacked at the same time.

When he cursed Crouch, he saw that Daphne had been watching him nervously. He realized she had been the one to warn him. If she had not, he would have been killed. He walked to where she had been standing when Crouch attacked him, but she was already gone.

* * *

A score of masked Death Eaters flew toward their target, with Voldemort at the lead and Severus Snape at his right side. The Death Eaters were all on brooms, though Voldemort flew under his own power.

They were close now. The harsh wind whipped in their faces as the sea crashed below them. On the horizon was Azkaban Prison.

Voldemort smiled maliciously. The Qudditch World Cup had been a perfect diversion for his attack.

He had kept this plan to himself until the last moment. He did not distrust any specific Death Eater, for he believed them all to be loyal to him, but he was paranoid enough to know that any of them could betray him.

With a single jab of his wand, a portion of the thick stone wall surrounding the prison was pulverized. He landed on the rock floor and began strolling leisurely through the prison. He walked down the blocks of cells and deeper into the prison. There were few human guards on duty, and no reserves. They were all stationed at the World Cup. The dementors were the prison's only real defense, and they would stand alongside the Dark Lord, not in his way. They would, however, be forced to remain in the prison until the Ministry acknowledged his presence.

He rounded a corner and encountered the first guard. His eyes widened, but he did not get a chance to warn his colleagues.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" The jet of green light erupted from Voldemort's wand and struck the guard in the chest, extinguishing the life from his body.

Voldemort stepped casually over the corpse of the dead guard and continued further into the prison.

As the Dark Lord and his followers approached the deepest part of the prison, many of the Death Eaters began to feel the chilling effects of the dementors. He looked to his left and saw that Lucius trembled as he moved forward. Snape also seemed to be suffering. Voldemort, personally, did not notice the effects of the creatures. The dozens of dementors guarding the prison's innermost cellblock drifted aside to allow the Death Eaters access.

Two Aurors guarded the cells containing Voldemort's most faithful servants. Both of them began firing curses at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort laughed mercilessly as he batted their spells aside, as if they were nothing. A jet of green ended the life of one of the Aurors.

The Dark Lord aimed at the other guard. "_Imperio!_" The guard's eyes glazed over as the spell took its effect. "Release my Death Eaters," he commanded.

The guard hastily removed a key from his robes and began opening cell doors. His task finished, the guard stood in front of Voldemort, as if waiting for his next command. "_Avada Kedavra!_" The guard crumpled to the floor, as prisoners began emerging from their cells. "Antonin, Bella. At last, we meet again."

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, falling to her knees in front of Voldemort, "I knew you would come for us."

Voldemort ran a long forefinger down his most devoted servant's cheek. "Assistance will always be given to my most faithful."

* * *

Harry sat at the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, at his first official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

"An incident occurred at the World Cup," Dumbledore explained. "Harry was attacked by a member of Voldemort's forces."

Immediately, the murmur of whispered conversations became overwhelming.

"After reviewing Harry's memory of the incident, I have determined the attacker to have been Bartemius Crouch Junior."

The whispered conversations became much louder.

"But Albus," said Molly Weasley, "He's dead."

"I was under that impression as well. How he has survived is a mystery, but we must assume that he was acting on the orders of his Master."

"How do you know that for sure, Albus?"

"I fear the attack was meant as a diversion. The Ministry has not yet realizedthis but thanks to Severus," he said, pointing in Snape's direction, "we have discovered that the Dark Lord led an attack on Azkaban."

Most of the individual conversations stopped at Dumbledore's revelation.

"Due to the attack at the World Cup, the Ministry removed most of their Aurors from the island, and left it guarded by a very small contingent of new recruits and the dementors, who allowed the Dark Lord to free his servants."

"Who escaped?" asked one of the older members.

"The most notable escapees are the Lestranges and Antonin Dolohov."

The previous whispering returned with fervor, and Dumbledore took a moment to regain the silence.

"Sirius," he said, "You will need to be more careful. The Ministry will likely blame you for the breakouts."

The meeting concluded a short time later, and Harry was asked to stay behind.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, "Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. Have you heard of it?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. But wasn't the Tournament cancelled?"

"Indeed it was, but the Ministry has decided to restore it."

"Why haven't I heard about this before?" Harry asked.

"It is a very tightly kept secret. I only mention it to you now, because Voldemort has ordered Severus to enter your name."

"What should I do, sir?"

"That decision belongs to you. If you choose to compete, you will be put in a considerable amount of danger, though I am sure you are capable of handling anything the Tournament has to offer. The real threat would be whatever Voldemort has planned, and I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety. If you compete, Severus' position as a spy will be secured. If you choose not to compete, you will be safe- as safe as you have always been, that is, but Severus' position would be compromised."

Harry briefly considered his options. "I'll do it. The risk is work keeping a spy in his ranks."

"I agree with your reasoning. We will keep you safe, Harry. This year, I will be instructing you."

* * *

Daphne Greengrass had done what she promised herself she would not do. She had communicated with Harry Potter. She did not regret her decision, because he would have been killed if she had not acted, and she refused to allow him to be hurt, even if she would not speak to him.

As soon as she saw that he was safe, she had left. She was impressed by his reaction, and the amount of raw power he put behind his spells. The curse he struck his attacker with had destroyed his shield, as if it were not even there.

Daphne knew she was a talented witch, but realized that she could not hope to match him in a duel. She did not think anyone in Slytherin could match him in terms of power.

She almost hoped that Draco would be foolish enough to pick a fight with him, though she would have to hurt Draco for attacking Harry.

* * *

Harry was making progress with his Occlumency lessons. Snape was still able to briefly view his memories, but he was able to clear his mind more quickly as their lessons progressed. He still struggled with keeping his mind clear of emotions effortlessly. He had to apply a conscious effort, so he was unable to repel Legilimency attacks when he was not expecting them.

Snape was hopeful that he would be able to shield his mind from attack before he encountered Voldemort again.

* * *

Voldemort stood before his Death Eaters, and smirked triumphantly as he saw that his Inner Circle had been completely reunited. He faced Snape and said, "Harry Potter's involvement in the Triwizard Tournament is critical to our plans. You must not fail."

"I will succeed, my Lord."

"The Third Task is when we shall strike." Snape nodded his head. Voldemort turned to the man who had most recently rejoined his ranks. "Barty Crouch Junior," he said, shaking his head, "You were reckless, irresponsible, and you attempted to kill that which is mine to kill."

Crouch groveled in front of his Master, begging for mercy. He grimaced in pain at the sudden movement- the bleeding from his fight with Potter had been stopped, but the wound had not been healed.

"Nevertheless," Voldemort continued, "Your attack, unwanted as it was, succeeded in weakening the defenses of Azkaban. The benefits were not intended, but they cannot be discounted. You will not be punished."

"Thank you, Master."

Voldemort turned to Lucius to make his next command. "Our eventual plans for the English Ministry will be more feasible after we have taken control of the French Ministry. Speak with your French contracts, Lucius."

Voldemort knew that Dumbledore would not allow the English Ministry to be taken control of directly. The two sides were, at the moment, evenly matched, and he did not dare make such a risky move.

The support of the French Ministry, after he had taken control of it, would give his campaign against the English Minsitry legitimacy, and that would greatly limit Dumbledore's options.


	15. Chapter 14

Harry had been to Diagon Alley and purchased all his supplies for the coming school year. As much as he would miss his Godfather, he was ready to return to Hogwarts.

Professor Lupin had told him what he should expect over the next year.

"The Triwizard Tournament hasn't been held for many years- it's going to be a media spectacle."

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

"The press will only be allowed on the grounds during Tournament events, but you need to keep an eye on them. Rita Skeeter in particular," he said.

"Will the professors be involved in planning the tournament, or is the Ministry handling it?"

Remus sighed; he'd been hoping not to have this conversation yet. "I wouldn't know, Harry. I'm not your professor anymore."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained schooled. "Explain," he demanded.

Lupin chuckled at the look on Harry's face. He reminded the man so greatly of his parents. "With Voldemort back and amassing his forces, war is looming," he explained. Harry nodded for him to continue. "Dumbledore and I had a long talk about how Defense should be handled. I'm something of an expert on dark creatures, but I'm not qualified to train the students for what's coming."

"You're a good dueler," Harry reminded him.

"I'm decent in a fight," he agreed, "But you need someone with experience fighting Death Eaters teaching you, someone with a fighter's mentality. With this war on the horizon, I'm not qualified to hold the Defense position."

"But you're the best Defense professor we've had," Harry reminded him.

Lupin cracked a small grin, "That's not saying much about my capabilities, Harry. Besides, Dumbledore's found someone more than capable of teaching you."

"Who?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," Lupin said. "He's a former auror, and almost as good as Dumbledore in a duel. Most of the Death Eaters that were taken care of in the last war were captured or killed by Moody."

Harry had heard of the grizzled ex-auror. The man was a legend. He would miss Moony, but was glad that Dumbledore had found an even better replacement.

"Besides," Remus said, "This will give me a chance to catch up with Sirius."

Harry had not considered that, but supposed it was true. The two men had forgiven each other for the mutual lack of trust, and were better friends now than they had been before Sirius' imprisonment. Remus had been reluctant to let Sirius out of his sight since he had discovered the other man's innocence.

* * *

Harry was thankful that Hermione's parents had let her visit Grimmauld Place. She had been eager to meet Sirius after she learned about the circumstances surrounding his incarceration.

"Mr. Black," she said, "It's not right that the Ministry can lock someone up without even giving them a trial. We aren't in the Dark Ages anymore. People have rights!"

Sirius suppressed a laugh at the girl's enthusiasm. Truthfully, it felt nice to have someone so riled up on his behalf. "I agree that it's not right, but the Ministry will need to be reworked before anything major can be accomplished," he said. Hermione grumbled, but nodded. "And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Please call me Sirius. I'm not old enough to be Mr. Black yet," he said, flashing her a winning smile.

Later that day, Harry and Hermione talked about their summers.

"Tell me about this incident at the World Cup," she ordered.

She had tears in her eyes by the time he finished his tale about Crouch's attack. She could not believe that someone had tried to kill her best friend.

"But Harry, isn't he dead?" she asked.

"I thought so, too. Dumbledore reckons he must have escaped from Azkaban and faked his death."

"Do you think his father helped him?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"It's possible," he reasoned. "He may have felt guilty about putting his son in Azkaban."

From there, the conversation became more pleasant. Hermione talked about her family's trip to France, where she had seen the Palace of Versailles. According to her, the magnificent structure was built by wizards and Muggles working together.

"Hermione, have you heard of the Triwizard Tournament?" he asked as they prepared to go to sleep the night before they left for Hogwarts.

"Of course. All the major schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, used to compete in it. It's been banned for years."

Harry nodded. "They un-banned it this year. Hogwarts is the host."

Hermione grinned, "It's terribly dangerous, but I imagine it'll be fun to watch the events."

He sighed, "I'm to compete, Hermione. Voldemort ordered Snape to enter my name. If he doesn't do it, we'll lose our spy."

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. She would worry about her best friend more than he could imagine, but she understood the necessity of him competing. Snape was too valuable to lose.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were escorted to King's Cross by Remus and an auror Harry did not recognize. Their second minder was a large man who seemed to exude a calm authority.

They made it to the platform with no problems.

"Good luck in the tournament, Harry. Stay safe," Remus told him.

"I will. Take care of Sirius while I'm gone."

Remus nodded as Harry and Hermione climbed aboard the train.

They reached the back of the Express before they found an empty compartment.

* * *

Draco Malfoy walked confidently through the Hogwarts Express.

The boy had not had a good summer. He had wanted his father to take him to the Quidditch World Cup, but he had been doing something for their Lord. Draco understood why his father was unable to bring him to the Cup, but he was not used to being disappointed.

Though he would never admit it to her face, Daphne's warning about staying away from Potter had scared the Malfoy scion. _That girl's crazy,_ he thought, _and strong enough to get away with it. _

He had stayed away from Potter because of her warning. His father also advised him not to cause trouble with the Halfblood. Lucius knew about the boy's prowess with a wand, but Draco did not. He believed that his father's warning about Potter was purely political.

Draco was not blind- he had noticed that Potter and Greengrass had drifted apart. They did not even seem to be on speaking terms. _It's only right, _he decided. _The most attractive witch in Slytherin shouldn't be interested in Potter. _

He assumed that his rival was no longer under Daphne's protection, so he found himself looking for Potter and the Mudblood on the train. By the time he reached the last compartment, he had grown quite frustrated.

"I suppose you'll be competing, eh Potter?" he asked, with a scowl on his face.

Harry looked up from the book he was reading and smirked, "You'll just have to wait and see, Malfoy."

Draco paused. _Does Potter know? _He had hoped that Potter would not know about the Tournament. _Who would have told the Halfblood? Dumbledore knows, but he's too fair-minded to tell anyone- even his Golden Boy,_ Draco thought.

He sneered at Harry and said, "Watch your back, Potter. I'll be keeping you in line this year."

* * *

Dumbledore looked around the Great Hall as his students settled down after the Feast, his eyes twinkling. He despised Tom Riddle even more, knowing that he would deprive these children of their innocence.

"We here at Hogwarts have been given the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year." Dumbledore paused as the assembled students began talking among themselves. He chuckled at the enthusiasm of the Weasley twins. "The Triwizard Tournament is a most dangerous endeavor, one which is entered at the peril of the contestant. For that reason, the Ministry has decided that only students who have reached the age of the majority shall be allowed to participate."

The crowd's reaction was less than pleased. The Weasley twins were quite vocal in their disappointment.

"While the Tournament is a competition, it is also a chance to foster international friendship. Please keep that in mind," Dumbledore told the students. "We have one staff change this year. Professor Lupin will not be returning." He paused for a moment, as the students grumbled. Remus had been a popular professor. "Taking the position of Defense against the Dark Arts Professor," he said, motioning to a man to his left, "Will be Alastor Moody." The grizzled ex-auror rose from his seat, an electric blue eye spinning in its socket. He seemed to be missing a substantial portion of his face, and he was certainly an intimidating figure.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy prowled through the halls of the French Ministry of Magic in his usual, confident gait, wearing his finest black robes. He looked at his surroundings and noticed that the light blue walls were covered with fine art.

_This Ministry is more… frilly than the English one,_ he decided.

He spotted the receptionist's desk, and lengthened his stride. The blonde sitting behind the desk could not have been any more than twenty years old. She was gorgeous, though Lucius doubted her qualifications.

"Good morning, madam," he said in French, with a slight Parisian accent. He bowed to place a light kiss on her hand. "Lucius Malfoy, here to see Minister Dubois."

The receptionist blushed- something Lucius was used to inspiring. "Of course. He's expecting you."

Lucius nodded politely before walking past the woman. A polished cherry door swung open as he approached it. A wiry man with graying hair sat behind his desk, awaiting his visitor.

"Minister Dubois," Lucius drawled.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lucius?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair.

Lucius grinned wickedly as he took a seat in front of the Minister's desk. "We have much to discuss, Alain." The Minister sighed heavily and motioned for Lucius to continue. "The situation in England will soon be changed."

"So I have heard."

"Really?" Lucius asked.

"The information is out there- for those willing to hear it," he commented.

Lucius chuckled, "Fudge has always been willfully obtuse, at least in respect to less pleasant topics. Fortunately, his lack of interest in the coming changes suits our interests."

"What are these coming changes, exactly?" the Minister asked nervously.

"For too long, the powers that be in England have attempted to deny us our place in the world- the status that is our birthright."

"What are you saying, Lucius?"

"Revolution is imminent, Alain. Either help lead it, or be crushed under it," Lucius said.

"It will make it to France, then?" the Minister asked, audibly gulping.

Lucius cast him a feral grin, "One way or another, Minister."

"I will… take this into consideration. I'll be in touch."

* * *

Harry's initial impression of Mad-Eye Moody indicated that he was not a man to cross. His first Defense lesson with the man drove that point home.

"Can anyone name the three worst curses in existence?" Moody asked.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, but remained silent. One of the other Ravenclaws raised his hand, and Moody gestured for him to speak. "The Unforgivable Curses, sir."

"And those are?" he asked the same student.

"The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and the Killing Curse," he replied.

"Precisely!" he exclaimed. "What makes them Unforgivable?" he asked. His human eye scanned the room and landed on Hermione. "You," he said, pointing at her.

"The Cruciatus causes unimaginable pain- it's the torture curse. The Imperius takes away the victim's free will, and the Killing Curse, well that's rather self explanatory, Professor," she answered.

He chuckled at her answer, "Very good, Miss Granger. The use of any one of them on another human will get you a life-sentence to Azkaban."

He proceeded to demonstrate all three of the Unforgivables on an unfortunate trio of spiders.

Harry found the Imperius to be especially disturbing; the spider had obeyed Moody's orders without question. Would that happen to him if he were hit with the curse?

After the lesson, Harry remained seated, waiting for the other students to leave. "Professor Moody," he began when he was finally alone with the man, "I've a question about today's lesson." Moody motioned for him to continue. "It's about the Imperius Curse, sir. I know it can be beaten, but I'm not sure how," he paused for a second. "Will you cast the curse on me, sir?"

Moody hesitated briefly. "I'm not entirely comfortable cursing students," he admitted. "I never used force against anyone who didn't force my hand," he said, before pausing a moment, making his decision. "You've a part to play in the coming war," he stated.

"Did the Headmaster tell you?" Harry asked.

Moody shook his head, "Didn't have to. I've fought dark wizards most of my life, Potter. My mind's the only thing that's kept me alive, and the clues aren't that hard to put together. All the extra lessons you get, wanting to have the Imperius cast on you… It's easy to figure out," he said. "Well, are you ready?"

"What do you mean?"

Moody's wand was out faster than Harry would have thought possible. "_Imperio!_"

A small voice in the back of Harry's head began speaking to him. It wasn't giving him orders as much as it was providing him with advice.

The voice advised him to jump on Moody's desk.

_Why would I do that? _Harry asked himself. _That makes no sense._

When he did not move, the advising voice became louder, but its advice did not make any more sense. Harry could still think of no logical reason to jump on the desk. Suddenly, the voice stopped.

"I'll be damned, Potter. That was the first time you've had that curse cast on you?" Moody asked.

"Yes, sir."

Moody chuckled, "Didn't have much trouble with it, did you?"

"Is it unusual that I was able to beat it so quickly?" Harry asked.

Moody nodded, "Very. But I suppose it's not the first time you've done something unexpected, eh?"

As Harry walked out of the Defense classroom, Draco Malfoy moved out from behind a suit of armor, and stepped behind him. Harry did not notice his presence, even as Draco trained his wand on his back.

Draco jerked as he felt another wand jam into his lower back.

"Put it away, Malfoy," the person behind him hissed.

He craned his neck and saw Daphne Greengrass standing behind him, a look of fury etched upon her beautiful face.

Draco scowled as he pocketed his wand. It appeared that Potter was still off limits. He cursed under his breath as he turned and stalked off to the Slytherin dormitories.

Harry turned quickly as he heard Draco depart. "Daphne," he mouthed when he met the girl's eye.

"Potter," she grumbled, before turning and following Draco's footsteps back to her dormitory.

* * *

Harry met the Headmaster in an abandoned classroom on the third floor for their first lesson.

"Fighting is as much about anticipating your opponent's moves as anything else," Dumbledore informed him.

Harry nodded. He supposed anticipation was something best achieved with practice.

"Attack me, Harry," Dumbledore instructed.

Harry's eyebrow rose, but he did not question the Headmaster. "_Stupefy!_" The red stunner raced toward the man, but was absorbed by a lazy flick of his wand.

"Do keep going, my boy," he said.

"_Expelliarmus!_" The spell careened at the Headmaster, but was deflected at the last second. "_Impedimenta!_" Again, the spell was deflected before it hit its target.

"For this demonstration to work, you must try to hurt me. Keep going."

"_Reducto!_" Dumbledore sidestepped the spell with amazing quickness.

"You're on the right track. Try something more… damaging," Dumbledore suggested.

"_Sectumsempra!_" For the first time, the Headmaster erected a visible, blue shield, which glowed for a second but absorbed the curse.

"Much better," Dumbledore said, eyes alight with mirth. The old man really enjoyed fighting someone with so much potential. "Try again."

"_Diffractum!_" The bone-breaking curse sailed toward Dumbledore's wand arm. He raised his wand and silently brought up a silver shield.

When Harry's curse hit the shield, it immediately changed direction. His eyes widened as he realized the shield had reversed the spell's course. "_Protego!_" Harry yelled, blocking his curse moments before it broke his wrist.

"Well done, well done!" Dumbledore said, placing his wand back in his robes to applaud. "That will be enough for today. Defense against attack is one of the most important elements of any fight. The point of this exercise was to demonstrate that with enough practice, anything can be blocked."

"What about the Unforgivables, sir?" Harry asked.

"A magical shield cannot block the Unforgivable Curses," he conceded, "However, conjured or summoned items can be used to intercept them. A block of stone will stop the Killing Curse."

Harry's eyes widened as the Headmaster spoke. _Why didn't I think of that?_ He asked himself. _And why don't any of the Defense textbooks mention it?_

"There is one more thing I would like to show you today, Harry. The shield I used to deflect your last curse- I would like to teach you how to use it."

Harry grinned. Dumbledore's shield had been quite impressive.

"Eventually, you will be able to conjure the shield by visualizing it. That, however, will come only with practice. For now, the wand motion is the same as the wand motion for the standard shield charm. '_Reverto_' is the incantation."

* * *

The delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrived on the day before Halloween. A ship carrying the students from Durmstrang emerged from the depths of the Great Lake, while the Beauxbatons students arrived in flying carriages. The entrances were a bit too gaudy in Harry's opinion. He did not know why they felt the need to arrive in grand fashion.

He recognized the Headmaster of the Durmstrang students as Igor Karkaroff, a former Death Eater. He also noticed that Viktor Krum was one of the students representing Durmstrang. He had not realized the Quidditch star was still in school.

After dinner, Dumbledore gained everyone's attention. "The Champions will be selected by the Goblet of Fire." Excited murmurings broke out as the students saw a cup filled with a roaring flame.

* * *

Severus Snape walked to the Goblet late at night, his black robes blending into the darkness.

"_Confundo!_" The Goblet glowed blue a moment as it was manipulated by the magic. Snape stood by the Goblet and withdrew a slip of parchment from his robes. He hesitated a moment as he held the parchment above the flame, before dropping it and quickly stalking off.

He made his way out of the castle and past the wards. Voldemort had instructed Snape to inform him as soon as Potter's name was placed in the Goblet.

* * *

The assembled students remained unusually silent as the Goblet of Fire prepared to spit out the names of the Champions. The anticipation was palpable.

Harry did not react when Fleur Delacour, Victor Krum, and Cedric Diggory were chosen to represent their schools.

Harry's eyes widened as the Goblet ejected a fourth name. He and Dumbledore had decided that it would be for the best to act surprised. The Headmaster seemed genuinely flustered as he read Harry's name from the slip of parchment.

The students were silent as Harry stood and began walking to catch up to the other Champions. By the time he exited the Great Hall, hushed conversations had broken out at the House tables. The whispers and pointed looks were directed at him.

"What are you doing here, Harry?" asked Cedric when Harry walked up to the other Champions. The seventh year had respected Harry ever since the younger boy defeated him in a game of Quidditch during Harry's second year.

"I'm not really sure," Harry said. "The Goblet made me another Champion."

Cedric's eyes widened, but he did not say anything. He knew that Harry was more capable than most people in the castle. The French witch huffed and muttered something unpleasant under her breath, but did not voice her opinions out loud. Krum inspected Harry with a critical eye, as if he were attempting to determine his worth. He nodded to himself and kept silent.

Dumbledore walked into the room at a brisk pace, followed by the other Heads, Barty Crouch, and Ludo Bagman, the men running the Tournament.

"Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, sir," Harry answered truthfully.

"Did you ask one of the older students to put your name in the Goblet?"

"No, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, his expression grave.

"He cannot compete," the Headmistress of Beauxbatons said haughtily.

"He must," Barty Crouch informed her. "It's a magically binding contract."

Harry tried his best to look nervous as Crouch revealed that he had no choice but to compete, but struggled to contain a smile as he imagined defeating the Beauxbatons Champion, who did not seem to want him to participate.

Over the next few days, Harry received more than his share of scorn. The other students all seemed to think he had manipulated the Goblet. The Gryffindors and Slytherins seemed displeased that he had managed to enter when they had not been able, the Hufflepuffs were furious that he had stolen their Champion's glory, and the Ravenclaws wanted to know what spell he had used to get past the age line.

He wondered how they would react when he won the Tournament.

* * *

Voldemort stood in the center of a select group of his most trusted followers. They all fell to their knees into submission to their Lord.

"Rise," Voldemort instructed them. "How have our plans for the French Ministry progressed, Lucius?"

"The French are willing to cooperate, my Lord."

Voldemort smirked, knowing his plans were ahead of schedule. "Will force be needed?"

"I think not. The Minister shares our beliefs, and is easy enough to control," Malfoy reassured his Master.

"What of the Germans?" Voldemort asked.

"We are still in negotiations. Their Minister will not be easily cowed."

"Have him removed," Voldemort said. "We will replace him with someone more receptive to our cause."

"How would my Lord have me proceed?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort considered that for a moment. "Implicate the English Ministry in his death. The world at large will be more likely to take our side if they believe Fudge is having foreign politicians assassinated."

Voldemort paused for a moment and turned to Snape. "Severus, you must make sure that Potter survives the first two tasks. It is of vital importance to our goals that he make it to the Final Task."

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

Draco Malfoy had been a pest since Harry's name came out of the Goblet. The blond boy did not seem to appreciate Harry, as he phrased it, "showing everyone up." The child really was insufferable.

Harry was in Defense when a younger student fetched him for the ceremonial Weighing of the Wands. He understood the traditional value of the ceremony, but did not think it was necessary to remove students from classes.

Mister Ollivander inspected all the competitor's wands, to ensure they were functioning well enough for the tournament. Harry did not pay much attention to Ollivander's conversations with the other Champions, but did learn that the blond girl was part-Veela.

"Ah, Mister Potter," Ollivander said when it was Harry's turn. "Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches. Is it still serving you well?"

"Yes, sir."

He waved Harry's wand and produced a stream of sparks. "Well, it's still in working order. Good luck, my boy."

Harry nodded and turned to leave. Someone grabbed his arm as he walked toward the door. "Mister Potter, may I have a moment of your time?" the person asked.

Harry turned to look at the person accosting him. It was a middle-aged woman with blond hair, wearing a hideous set of green robes. "Rita Skeeter with the _Daily Prophet,_" she informed him.

_Ah, _Harry thought, _The one Remus warned me about. How should I handle this?_

Harry nodded and allowed the woman to drag him into another room. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Rita?" he asked.

She flashed him a smile, "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. It's not every day that I get to interview the Boy Who Lived."

Harry grinned back at her, "It's not every day that I get to talk with the _Prophet_'s best writer."

"Thank you, Harry," she said, struggling to keep from blushing. "Now, what can you tell me about your involvement in this Tournament?" she asked, withdrawing an unremarkable quill from her bag. She had planned to use a Quick Quotes Quill, but had not anticipated the boy being so… charming.

"I'm not entirely sure, Rita. I look forward to the chance to prove myself, but I did not enter the Tournament."

"You didn't?" she asked, attempting to cover her surprise.

"No, but I do have to compete, and I intend to win," he said.

Rita smiled as she began taking notes.

Her story appeared in the _Prophet _the next day.

_**Boy Who Lived Forced into Triwizard Tournament**_

_Harry Potter has been distant with the media since his return to the wizarding world over three years ago, but I was fortunate enough to conduct his first official interview, and can tell my faithful readers that our Savior is a precocious young wizard who is sure to live up to the expectations associated with his title. At 14 years of age, he carries himself with poise and displays an aura of power few can ever hope to match._

_His eyes shone with confidence as he declared that he intended to win the Triwizard Tournament- and that desire to succeed is expected. What was unexpected, however, was that Harry Potter did not enter the Triwizard Tournament, nor did he encourage another student to enter his name; rather he was entered unwillingly._

_When I interviewed the Boy Who Lived following the ceremonial Weighing of the Wands, the boy sitting across from me was not the conceited attention monger that some have envisioned, but a confident, yet humble young man who had no choice but to compete in a Tournament he was forced to enter. _

_This reporter wishes the young man luck on his quest to become the youngest wizard to ever win the Triwizard Tournament. We would all do well to mimic Harry's enthusiasm for the Tournament in our own lives. He has been thrust into a dangerous situation- a Tournament designed for wizards years older than he- and has decided to make the most of it. For that, I applaud him._

* * *

Harry decided to skip the Hogsmeade Weekend before the First Task. His experience in the village during the previous year had been underwhelming, and he had better things to do. He and Hermione decided to work on spells for the Tournament.

They sat at the Ravenclaw Table eating breakfast as most of the other students slept late or walked to the wizarding village. Harry looked to the Head Table and saw that Snape was walking toward them.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, "Would you come to my office?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. He stood and fell in line behind the Potions Master. Hermione began to follow him, but he motioned for her to stay in the Great Hall. Snape was always very specific in his instructions, and he had not asked for her presence in his office.

"I trust you have been keeping up with your Occlumency," Snape said.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.

"Good. You are now ready to begin constructing mental shields," Snape informed him. "Imagine your magic forming a wall around your mind. Imagine mortar and stone linking together to form a line of defense."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He envisioned the wall as the Professor instructed, and felt his magic construct it around his memories.

"You have achieved the first layer of defense?" Snape asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then you are finished for today. It would be counterproductive to test its strength until you have solidified it," he said.

Harry stood to leave. As he crossed the threshold, he heard Snape say, "Be ready for a dragon."

* * *

The sky was clear on the morning of the First Task, and Harry decided to take the weather as a good sign.

He was not particularly worried about the dragon Snape had mentioned. He and Hermione had discussed the best course of action, and reached the conclusion that he should target the eyes. She had recommended the Conjunctivitis Curse, but Harry feared the curse would only anger the dragon, without significantly harming its vision.

They had also discussed how impressively he should handle the beast. He could defeat it in a simple manner, or he could do something flashy- something to prove he belonged in the Tournament. He decided on the latter.

He wore his wand holster and a pair of light robes which allowed him freedom of movement. He did not plan on needing to dodge or flee, but did not want to lose the option because of his choice in clothing.

He and Hermione made their way to the Champions' tent shortly before the Task was to begin. She hugged him fiercely, "Good luck, Harry. Try to make it out in one piece," she joked, belying the nervousness she felt.

She was forced to leave the tent as Ludo Bagman announced that the Task was about to begin.

"In this bag," he said, "Are replicas of what each of you will be facing. Each of you will draw one, and that will determine the order. Ladies first," he said, gesturing for Fleur to draw.

Harry watched as the other competitors drew their dragons and noticed that the species they withdrew were relatively docile, compared to other dragons at least.

When it was his turn, Harry stepped forward and plunged his hand into the bag. Immediately, the remaining dragon snapped at his finger, and Harry realized he had drawn the aggressive dragon. He pulled the miniature replica out of the bag and saw that he was correct. He had drawn a Hungarian Horntail, one of the most dangerous dragons in the world. _That's fine,_ Harry thought. _No one will be able to deny that I won the Task after I defeat a Horntail._

"Now, the objective it to secure a golden egg that your dragon is guarding. Mister Diggory will be first, followed by Miss Delacour, Mister Krum, and finally, Mister Potter," Bagman announced.

Harry looked at Cedric for the first time since they had drawn and noticed the older boy had turned quite pale. He was evidently not prepared to face a dragon.

Cedric stepped out of the tent after his name was called. Harry could hear the crowd applauding him. Since Rita's article, most of the school had stopped harassing Harry, but Cedric was still the Champion Hogwarts supported.

A few moments later, the crowd gasped, then went dreadfully silent. Harry did not hear anything else from the crowd until Fleur's name was called.

The French witch stepped into the arena and received polite, but subdued applause. The crowd cheered loudly after a few moments, indicating that she had likely been successful.

Krum stalked out next, looking extremely confident. The Quidditch star received a round of applause as he exited the tent.

A few moments later, the crowd erupted in cheers. Based upon his judgment of the crowds' reactions, Harry believed that two of the Champions had secured their eggs successfully.

Harry was focused on the prospect of securing his own egg when he heard his name called. He walked into the arena, drawing his wand as he went. He received a smattering of applause as he stepped into the center of the coliseum. The spectators were crowded onto bleachers surrounding the arena, watching intently. More than a few of the Slytherins wore oddly hopeful expressions on their faces. He spotted Daphne, who he noticed was looking terrified.

Towering before him was the Hungarian Horntail, its green scales shimmering in the sunlight. The dragon roared as Harry approached it, and he decided to act immediately.

He had always been told that he should play to his strengths, and his greatest strength was dueling. He pointed his wand at the beast's eyes, and cast the Rupturing Curse. The dragon hissed in pain as the purple light struck it cleanly in the left eye. The curse caused severe damage to the creature's optical nerves, leaving it nearly blind almost immediately.

It spat a fountain of fire at Harry, who erected a shimmering, blue shield. The flames died, as if doused with water, before they reached him. Harry raised his wand to strike again when he saw the beast's tail swinging at him in his periphery. "_Impedimenta!_" The hex struck the tail in mid-swing, slowing it down enough to allow Harry to gracefully sidestep it. The crowd gasped when Harry's spell worked. Very few adult wizards ever had enough magical power and skill to cast spells capable of affecting a dragon through its scales.

The dragon roared in fury and swung its tail again. Harry was more prepared for this attack, and took aim to counter it. "_Diffractum!_" The dragon's tail snapped, and fell lamely to the ground as the spell struck it.

The Horntail spewed another stream of fire, much larger than the first one, at Harry.

"_Reverto!_" A silver shield sprang into existence in front of Harry. The flames hit the shield, and for a moment, it seemed to act like a regular shield charm. The true nature of the shield was revealed when the dragon roared in pain and defeat as it was engulfed by its own flames. The fire was quelled by its scales as soon as it stopped trying to incinerate Harry.

The dragon limped away from the eggs it guarded, and Harry strode forward confidently, wand still in hand in case the dragon attacked again. He carefully picked up the golden egg, and made his way out of the arena.

He felt a bit of sympathy for the dragon. It would probably have difficulty seeing for the rest of its life, but the other injuries would be easy enough to mend.

Hermione rushed forward and hugged Harry again as his scores were posted. He received a perfect score of fifty. He knew he deserved to be in first place, but had not entirely anticipated the result. He was surprised to receive a ten from Karkaroff, as he had not expected the man to do anything to hurt his Champion's chances, but supposed he liked a good fight as much as the next person.

"What happened with the others?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Fleur and Viktor both got their eggs, though they didn't score as well as you of course. Cedric," she paused, "Well, Cedric was hurt rather badly. He tried to curse his dragon's eyes, but missed. It knocked him into a boulder with its tail. Madam Pomfrey's working on him, so he should be alright, but he's in last place."

The mood was morose as Harry and Hermione returned to their common room. He wanted to win as much as any of the other Champions, but had not wanted any of them to be injured.

"Open the egg, Harry," Hermione instructed him.

Harry nodded as he found a clasp on the egg and allowed it to open. A painfully loud screeching noise emitted from inside, and he snapped it closed as quickly as he could manage. _I'll probably need to open it in a specific manner, _he decided.

* * *

During breakfast on a morning following the First Task, Dumbledore stood to make an announcement. "Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball this year, as a part of the Triwizard Tournament. I encourage the students to think of this as an opportunity to bring about international cooperation," he said, smiling. "The Champions and their dates will, of course, have the first dance."

Harry immediately knew who he wanted to ask to the Ball, but was unsure whether she would agree. He suspected that Krum would ask Hermione. He did not think Hermione had noticed, but the Bulgarian seemed rather enamored with her.

* * *

Harry saw her from a distance and ran down the hallway in pursuit. "Greengrass! A word?"

Daphne stopped walking and turned to face him. "What is it, Potter?"

"I need to ask you something. Follow me somewhere more private?" he asked.

She grumbled, but followed him into an empty classroom. He closed the door and surreptitiously cast a silencing charm.

"Have you no one else to bother?" she asked.

"No one else I'd like to ask to the Yule Ball, no."

Her retort caught in her throat. "Pardon?"

"Will you honor me with your company at the Yule Ball?" he asked.

"You want me to go to the Ball with you?"

"Very much," he agreed.

She quirked an eyebrow, "There's one thing I need to know, Potter. Why me? You're Harry bleeding Potter. Since the First Task, half this castle worships you. Why not ask one of the other pretty faces?" she asked, knowing she could not keep up her façade much longer if he really pressed the matter.

"Because they want to go with the Boy Who Lived or the Triwizard Champion," he said, his voice soft.

"And I don't?" she asked.

"Nope," he said, smiling brightly.

She sighed, "That explains why you didn't pick anyone else, but you didn't answer my question. Why me?" she asked quietly, her eyes cast downward at her feet, her previous confidence replaced with a sense of vulnerability.

"Because you're not like the other girls," he said.

She sent him a puzzled look, "What do you mean?"

"You're stronger than they are- smarter than they are, but you wear a mask to stay distant from nearly everyone. You're a woman who has her future mapped out, and will do whatever it takes to make sure she meet her goals. You don't give a damn about social conventions or what others think of you, and that scare most men away."

"Not you though, I suppose," she said, attempting to sound sarcastic rather than hopeful.

"Not me," he agreed.

"Why don't I scare you?" she asked.

"Weakness is just too boring," he answered simply. "You're the only woman I know who's strong enough for me. That's why I picked you, Daphne.

"What about me? Do I scare you?" he asked.

"No," she said, taking a step toward him.

"Why not?" he asked, moving closer to her.

"You have powerful enemies," she said. "But you're powerful, too- one of the most powerful men on the planet, in fact. But you already know that. You're confident in yourself and your abilities, but not arrogant. You've fought Voldemort more times than Crabbe can count to, and you're not going to stop until he's dead."

"Are you sure that doesn't scare you?" he asked.

"You're not the only strong one, remember?" She stepped toward him.

He laughed, "Very true." He took another step closer to Daphne, and could feel her warm breath on his neck. "You never answered my question," he reminded her as he lifted his hand and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, softly caressing her cheek.

"Which question was that?"

"The one where I asked you to the Yule Ball."

She had tried to prevent herself from becoming dependent on any other person, but it was too late. _Consequences be damned, _she decided. _I tried avoiding him and was miserable for it. _She needed Harry, and was not entirely sure that it was a bad thing. "I wasn't planning on going, but yes. I suppose I'll go with you, Harry."

He threw his arms around her. She hesitated for a moment, because of surprise rather than distaste, before squeezing him closer. "I'm sorry," she said. "For avoiding you since the Mirror."

He gently placed his forefinger on her lips to quiet her. "It's alright, Daphne. This is scary for me, too."

She moved closer into his embrace, "You'd better make this Ball worth my time."

He released her and feigned a look of indignation, "But of course!"

As he walked out of the room, he heard her call out, "Oi, Potter! Will I need to pick out your dress robes?"

He laughed lightly, his back turned to her, "That may be for the best."

"Harry," she said softly, "I really am looking forward to it."

"Me too."


	16. Chapter 15

Harry stood in the dungeons, near a portrait of one of Slytherin's descendants, wringing his hands anxiously while he waited for Daphne. He wore simple black dress robes for the occasion. True to her word, Daphne had selected a pair for him. The robes she had picked reminded him of her- elegant, yet not extravagant.

He recalled the final lesson she had given him in the delicate art of ballroom dancing. Sweat dripped from his brow and his muscles ached as he spun and twisted in intricate patterns he struggled to remember. She had deemed his efforts "passable." He just hoped that the torturous lessons would prove to be worth his trouble.

He snapped out of his reverie as the portrait he stood beside swung open. Daphne stepped across the threshold wearing a midnight-black dress which fell just above her knees. It was not formfitting, but tight enough to highlight her slender figure. A polished silver pendant, which Harry recalled she wore frequently, dangled from her neck. Her dark locks hung below her shoulders with a single tress dangling loosely over her right ear. She smiled demurely as her blue eyes met his green ones.

His eyes widened at the sight of his lovely date. He said nothing, as nothing needed to be said. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

She blushed prettily at his unspoken approval. She knew she was attractive, or at least that most boys found her to be so, but his reaction meant a great deal to her.

_He looks rather dashing himself, _she noted.

"My lady," he said, exhaling.

"Good sir," she said with a grin on her face.

He offered her his arm which she gladly accepted, and they started their walk to the Great Hall.

"Ready for the first dance?" she asked him.

He looked down to his feet. "I think so. I just hope I don't embarrass myself," he admitted.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine," she reassured him. "Besides," she said, withdrawing her arm from his and winding it around his waist, "I'll be there to make you look good."

Outside the Great Hall, Harry was surprised to see how well Ravenclaw would be represented during the first dance. Cedric Diggory stood hand-in-hand with Cho Chang, the pretty fifth-year Seeker. Fleur Delacour seemed to have brought Roger Davies, the Quidditch captain who had convinced Harry to play a game during his second year. The older boy appeared to be falling victim to the witch's charm.

Harry waved at Hermione, who flashed him a bright smile. His friend had been ecstatic when Krum had finally invited her to the Ball.

"You look great, Hermione," he said. And it was true; Hermione was becoming an attractive young woman, though Harry would always think of her platonically. "Excited for the Ball?"

"Absolutely! How about you?" she asked.

"Daphne's keeping my nerves in check," he said.

Daphne smiled at Hermione, though it did not reach her eyes, and grabbed Harry's hand possessively.

Viktor clapped Harry on the shoulder, "You did vell in First Task. Horntail is not so easy to best."

"Thanks, Viktor," Harry said. "Good luck on the next Task."

Finally, the Champions and their dates were ushered into the Great Hall. Daphne's arm in his, Harry looked straight ahead as they passed through the crowd and headed to the center of the dance floor.

The Weird Sisters began the Yule Ball with a ballad, and Harry placed his hands on Daphne's waist and pulled her close, while she rested her hands comfortably on his shoulders.

"How are you handling this?" she asked.

"I can't complain," he said, drawing her closer. "I owe that to you."

"Yes," she agreed, "You do. But I'm having a fairly good time myself," she said, grinning. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

The next song was much faster, and the teens twirled around one another in an almost reckless abandon, moving to the up-tempo beat. Harry danced with a nearly palpable grace, honed from hours spent dueling with masters of the craft, while the passion behind Daphne's movements enhanced the normally-stoic girl's already considerable beauty.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sauntered toward the office of Cornelius Fudge, the English Minister for Magic. Most of the Ministry employees had already retired for the evening- it was quite late after all, but Fudge would not dare leave his office during a Triwizard Tournament event. If something of note occurred, he needed to be seen as "in charge."

He knocked three times on Fudge's door, and opened it without awaiting an answer. Fudge was firmly enough under his thumb that the usual courtesies were unnecessary.

"Cornelius, might I have a word?" he asked.

"Lucius, dear fellow, of course! Do come in."

He walked primly into the office and, without invitation, took a seat opposite Fudge.

"What's this about, my friend?" asked Fudge.

"I'll get straight to the point," Lucius said, unsheathing his wand. "_Stupefy, Obliviate, Imperio!_" His arm was a blur as he cast the trio of spells- a technique he had perfected over the years. He was slightly concerned about how the continued mental abuse would affect Fudge's cognitive ability, but confident that his Lord would be in control before the effects became detrimental to his role as a puppet. Lucius was a skillful puppeteer, but the time for clandestine politics was nearing its end. The fall of Cornelius Fudge would likely destroy the Ministry, making the Dark Lord's ascension less complicated. His use had run its course.

Besides, the three spells were a nearly perfect way to achieve what he needed. The first stunned the man, the second made him forget meeting Lucius, and the third gave him control of the Minister's mind.

He had used a significant amount of capital, political and otherwise, to get close enough to Fudge to take control of his administration, but ruling him became relatively easy after gaining unlimited access to his office. He was weak-minded, easy to sway, and even easier to control with the Imperius when he would not do Lucius' bidding willingly.

Lucius carefully positioned Fudge so that it would appear that he had merely fallen asleep behind his desk- a common enough occurrence. He left the office silently, knowing Fudge would awaken soon enough, and closed the door behind him. He left the building as quietly as he had arrived, attracting the attention of no one. Nobody would ever realize he had been there.

Several hours later, Fudge slowly regained consciousness. He had a throbbing headache, which he attributed to a lack of sleep. He did not remember Lucius' visit, but found one thought to be at the forefront of his mind; Alexis Stresemann, the German Minister, had to die. He did not question the origin of this belief. He and Stresemann had always been at odds, and that was not likely to change with both of them in power. _I'll have one of my aurors take care of him. _

* * *

The young couple danced for the better part of the night. Both were thoroughly exhausted, but enjoying themselves.

"Want to head outside for a bit?" Harry asked. Daphne nodded enthusiastically, as it was getting quite warm inside the Great Hall. He took her hand in his and they made their way outside.

During their walk, they overheard a hushed conversation. They did not want to eavesdrop, but their curiosity got the better of them.

"The Dark Lord will destroy you, Igor," Snape said, "You were foolish not to return when he called us."

"He cannot touch me here, Severus," Igor Karkaroff replied, "I am safe at Hogwarts."

"The Tournament will end," Severus said. "When it does, he will come after you."

"I will run," Karkaroff said, raising his voice.

"And he will find you," Snape said, his voice remaining calm.

Karkaroff hesitated a moment before nodding. "Will the Dark Lord accept me back into his ranks?"

"No. You betrayed him during the trials and failed to return when he called for you. He will kill you the next time he sees you."

"Perhaps," Karkaroff started, his expression grave, "Perhaps I will go to Dumbledore."

"That would be," Snape paused, with a sneer on his face, "In your best interest."

Daphne dragged Harry away from the conversation by his hand. "Any idea what that was about?" she asked.

Harry sighed, "Yeah. Snape just saved Karkaroff's life without revealing that he's our spy."

He proceeded to explain Snape's situation to Daphne- how he had spied against Voldemort during the first war, and returned to that job after the Dark Lord's resurrection.

"I really can't say much more right now," Harry said. "I don't know how much I'm allowed to talk about."

Daphne frowned, "Alright," she said, "But you'd better have a good story for me when you're able to talk."

"But of course!" he said. "Ready to go back inside?"

"Yes. The Ball's probably almost over by now." Harry took her hand and led her back into the Great Hall.

The Weird Sisters finished the Ball the same way they had started it, with a ballad. Harry held Daphne's body close to his and she rested her head against his chest taking in his scent as they danced. All too soon, the Ball ended, and with it ended the moment of intimacy.

Harry reluctantly led Daphne back to her common room, where he knew they would part ways. In front of the portrait guarding the Slytherin dormitories, they stopped. He held both of her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

"Thanks, Daphne, for coming with me tonight."

"No, Harry. Thank you," she said, "For everything." She placed a small hand on his cheek and ran it gently down his face. "I had a great time tonight."

"Me too," he agreed. Harry, who had been well composed since he first met Daphne earlier that evening, suddenly looked nervous again. "Daphne," he began, "Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

She flashed him a brilliant smile, "I think I'd like that."

He returned her grin, "Goodnight, Daphne."

"Goodnight, Harry." With that, she turned and walked across the threshold, with the portrait closing behind her. Harry sighed happily as he returned to Ravenclaw tower.

* * *

Harry sat alone in his dormitory on a Saturday afternoon, inspecting his Golden Egg. He ran his fingers over the surface of the clue, but could not find any peculiarities. He opened it, cringing only slightly at the obnoxious noise, and repeated the process. Again, there was nothing.

He recalled his earlier belief that the egg would need to be opened under specific conditions, but a trial and error process was impractical, due to the nearly endless list of possibilities. He needed to limit his thinking.

He decided to start with the four classical elements of air, fire, water, and earth. It seemed to be the most logical place to begin, if only because of the small number of them.

He took his egg and made the long journey out of the castle to the Black Lake. The shore of the Lake gave him access to all four of the classical elements: the air surrounding him, fire which he could conjure without fear of damaging anything, the vast expanse of water to his side, and the earth below his feet.

He silently hoped that earth was not the required condition. _I don't think I'd be able to listen to it if it were buried, _he thought.

He found a level patch of ground and sat the egg down gently before opening it. He supposed that the act of simply opening it under normal circumstances counted as the use of air, so he decided to start with fire.

"_Incendio!_" Fire erupted from his wand and quickly engulfed the egg. The low roar of the flames did not change the screech of his clue.

He raised his wand and silently doused the area with water to put out the fire. As soon as the egg was sprayed, the screeching was replaced with a soft, gurgling sound Harry did not recognize. _I'll have to be underwater with it, _he decided.

He did not bother to undress, as it would take less time to cast a drying charm on his clothing after he deciphered the clue. He picked the egg up after he was certain it had cooled, and waded out into the Lake. The unforgiving cold of the water in January forced him to immediately use a warming charm on himself.

When he reached a deep enough part of the Lake, he placed the egg under the surface of the water, before taking a deep breath and plunging his head under as well.

What had been an unpleasant shriek above the water became a beautiful song below it. It might have been a message from the merpeople, he decided, though he doubted its origin was important. The message itself was the important thing. He listened carefully to the words being sung. Something he would sorely miss would be taken from him, and he would have an hour to retrieve it from the depths of the Lake.

_Will it be a thing or a person? _He liked some of his possessions, like his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map, but he was not particularly attached to any of them, and he was unsure which person would be taken if that was what the egg meant. Hermione had been his best friend since first year, but Daphne was something different. _I'll worry about that when the time comes, _he decided. _For now, how will I stay underwater for an hour? _he asked himself.

* * *

Harry, Daphne, and Hermione spent much of the next week scouring the library for something that would allow Harry to stay underwater for the duration of the Second Task. Hermione was cordial, but Daphne treated the other girl frostily.

They made a few discoveries during their research. He could use the Bubble-Head Charm which, true to its name, would enclose his head in an oxygen-filled bubble. Hermione found another charm which would allow him to draw oxygen directly from the water. It was Daphne that told him about gillyweed- a plant that would give him certain fish-like properties. He quickly ruled out any form of transfiguration, as he would lose the use of his wand.

He carefully weighed the advantages and disadvantages of his three options. Gillyweed would give him an incredible advantage in swimming and underwater maneuverability, but would make verbal spellcasting nearly impossible. The Bubble-Head Charm would allow him to cast spells verbally, but would not improve his swimming. The charm Hermione discovered would make verbal spellcasting difficult without providing him the benefits of the gillyweed.

He decided that gillyweed was his best option. His non-verbal spellcasting had improved dramatically, so he would retain most of his ability with a wand, while gaining an advantage underwater.

Snape and Sprout were the professors most likely to have access to gillyweed. He would prefer not to ask Cedric's Head of House for assistance. The Hufflepuffs had not yet forgiven him for his participation in the tournament, and Sprout hat treated him somewhat coolly. Snape was his best choice.

He descended the stairs to the dungeons one evening after dinner to ask the Potions Master for assistance. "Professor Snape," he began, "I require your assistance."

"What do you need, Mister Potter?" he asked.

"I'm in need of some gillyweed, and you seemed like the man to ask," Harry said.

Without saying anything, Snape turned and retreated into his personal storeroom. He returned a few moments later carrying a handful of the slimy plant.

"That is enough gillyweed to last one hour. It would be in your best interest not to take it all at once," he cautioned. "I do not expect you to need the allotted time, and I doubt you would care to stay in that form any longer than is strictly necessary. Take, perhaps, half of it at the start and keep the rest with you," he advised.

"Thank you, sir."

"And you should know," Snape said, "I agree with your choice. You are still quite formidable when casting only non-verbally." Harry nodded and turned to leave. "Do try and keep the Hufflepuffs from developing any delusions of adequacy. There is enough overconfidence in this castle without Diggory winning a Task," Snape said before Harry got to the stairs.

* * *

Harry stood nervously at the water's edge on the morning of the Second Task. He had not been nervous before the First Task, but he was not the only one in danger this time. He had not seen Daphne or Hermione all morning, and suspected that Daphne would be his hostage while Hermione would be Krum's, though he would rescue her himself if Krum failed.

At the sound of the whistle, Harry cast a surreptitious warming charm on himself, and began a jog into the Lake. His bare feet were still cold, but not uncomfortable thanks to the charm. The crowd was silent in anticipation as they awaited Harry's first move.

When the water reached his waist, he placed a good portion of the gillyweed Snape had given him in his mouth and started chewing. Its taste was something he could not accurately describe, though it was not altogether terrible, and the texture was unpleasant.

He continued his jog until he reached a point where he could swim comfortably. He swam on the surface of the water as he awaited the changes the gillyweed would make to his anatomy. Suddenly, he felt gills grow on the sides of his throat and his hands and feet become webbed. He plunged into the water and allowed the gills on his throat to supply him with fresh oxygen.

The water surrounding him had a murky, green tinge, restricting his vision to around ten feet. He swam as quickly as he could toward the center of the lake, quickly passing the other Champions. He turned his head to see how much distance he had put between himself and his competitors; they were already outside his field of vision.

He continued swimming toward the deeper water at the center of the lake. His swim eventually brought him to a portion of the Lake which had been overgrown with seaweed. Rather than risk disorienting himself by bypassing the section, Harry sped up and attempted to swim through it. Visibility was even worse within the vegetation. He slowed down in an effort to discern the path ahead of him, and something grabbed hold of his ankle.

He snapped his head around and saw that it was a grindylow, nothing to be feared by itself, but a water demon known for hunting in packs. Sure enough, two others emerged from the weed behind it. Harry sent a silent Reductor at the grindylow that was the furthest away from him, not wanting the curse to hit anything too close to him. Pieces of the grindylow hit by the curse were blasted backward, and the water where it had been was suddenly a few shades darker. The grindylow which had grabbed Harry's ankle dug its fangs into his leg. A silent cutting curse decapitated it as it raised its head to bit him again. Seeing that its allies had been defeated, the final demon wisely retreated back into the seaweed.

The leg that the grindylow had bitten bled freely into the water from two small punctures. Harry pointed his wand at the wound and sealed it before continuing.

Harry kept swimming at a fast pace until he heard singing similar to that which had been in his clue. He was now almost certain that it was mersong. He slowed his pace as he followed the singing into the center of the merpeople village. He kept his wand drawn, as he could not be certain whether hostile merpeople would be part of the Task.

At the center of the village, he saw four silhouettes tied to an imposing statue of an undoubtedly important merman. As he neared the statue, he identified the four people: Cho Chang, a young silver-haired girl who was definitely Fleur's sister, Hermione, and Daphne.

Knowing that Hermione was Krum's to save, Harry approached Daphne and took careful aim before sending a cutting curse at the rope binding her to the statue. He holstereed his wand and held her firmly under one of his arms, beginning his swim to the surface with one less limb.

He fully intended to go back and retrieve Hermione at the end of the Task if Krum was not successful. Rationally, he knew that Dumbledore would not place his friend in any real danger, but he could not take that chance.

Harry felt the effects of the gillyweed wearing off shortly before he reached the surface. The water became brighter as he neared the top, but he found himself thirsting for oxygen. He held his breath until he finally broke free of the Lake. He inhaled deeply, and Daphne's eyes shot open as she coughed up a mouthful of water.

"Took you long enough, Potter," she said, sounding severe, but unable to keep from smirking.

"I'll have you know," he said, grinning though breathing heavily, "None of the other Champions have gotten back yet. You're in good hands, comparatively at least."

"Thanks for coming for me," she said softly.

"Always," he said, his eyes shining. "Now, come on. Let's get to shore."

The swim back to shore was slow, and Harry found himself missing his webbed appendages. They were greeted with a roar as approval as they took their first steps on dry land. Fleur and Cedric were both already back, but without their hostages. It seemed they had failed the Task.

Harry sat down on the grass near the Lake, thoroughly exhausted. Daphne sat down next to him. He cast drying charms on them both, before putting his arm around her shoulders and letting her snuggle close against him.

A few moments later, Krum emerged from the water as a partially transformed shark, carrying Hermione. Truthfully, Harry was relieved. He would have saved Hermione if necessary, but did not fancy another trip into the Lake.

He clapped politely along with the rest of the crowd as they began their swim back to shore. He waved at Hermione and she returned it happily, as she and Krum walked off to sit by themselves.

Merpeople came up from the water carrying the remaining two hostages, and Ludo Bagman stood to announce the scores.

"Fleur Delacour, who performed the Bubble-Head Charm admirably, was attacked by grindylows and unable to rescue her hostage. She is awarded twenty-five points.

"Cedric Diggory tried valiantly to rescue his hostage in spite of not successfully unlocking his clue. For his efforts, he is awarded ten points.

"Harry Potter used gillyweed and exceptional wandwork to retrieve his hostage and return first, well inside the time limit of one hour. We award him the full fifty points.

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete human Transfiguration, which proved to be quite effective. He retrieved his hostage successfully, but outside the time limit. He is therefore awarded forty-five points."

Harry felt relieved to have a substantial lead before the Third Task.

* * *

Auror John Dawlish walked through the narrow hallways of the German Ministry for Magic under an invisibility cloak with a vial of fatal poison in his pocket. For the life of him, he did not know why he agreed to do this.

He had been a top student at Hogwarts and was, by all accounts, one of the best aurors on the force. He disliked being used as Fudge's personal assassin; he deserved better.

But in the end, he was loyal to power- and Fudge was the man who had it, and refused to let it go.

The actual order had come from his Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. It was not an order that Fudge could give directly, as he had plausible deniability to maintain, but Dawlish knew that this assignment came from the very top.

He did not expect to get caught; he was too good for that, but he knew that people would be suspicious. He had been forced to sign in and check his wand before he could enter the building, so it would be known that he was in the Ministry tonight. He had thrown the invisibility cloak over himself as soon as he could do so without being seen. No one would catch sight of him anywhere near the Minister's office. Yes, they would suspect him, but they would never be able to prove it. Besides, Fudge would stand behind him.

He walked unseen into the Minister's office, trailing behind one of his secretaries who had opened the door.

He stood patiently in the corner nearest the exit. Stresemann would have to leave his office before Dawlish could act.

Finally, the Minister rose to his feet and exited the room. Dawlish acted quickly, not knowing how long the man would be gone. He uncorked the vial of poison and poured its contents into the Minister's coffee. The poison was relatively tasteless, but he doubted that the Minister would be able to taste anything over that bitter drink.

He made sure his invisibility cloak was secured over him, and returned to the corner. He had to see Stresemann ingest the poison before he could make his getaway.

The Minister returned with a scowl on his face and slammed his door closed. He muttered something in German, but Dawlish had no idea what he had said. He took a long sip of his drink.

That was all it would take. The poison was designed to be slow-acting so that Dawlish would have a chance to escape before the lockdown which would inevitably occur after the assassination.

He waited a few more moments before the secretary he had entered the office behind came back into the room. He quickly stepped out through the door she had left open behind her.

He walked back toward the entrance of the building and removed the invisibility cloak when he was sure no one was near him, and quickly made his exit.

The next morning, an article about the events of the previous evening at the German Ministry appeared in the _Daily Prophet_.

_**German Minister Assassinated**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_German Minister for Magic Alexis Stresemann, the man noted for holding Wizarding Germany together through the Muggle Cold War and division of his country's lands, has been killed at the age of eighty-three. Details surrounding his death are unconfirmed, but sources within the German Ministry have reported that Stresemann was the victim of a poisoning, likely through the coffee which he was known to drink regularly._

_Auror John Dawlish, trusted friend and confidant of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, was seen racing from the German Ministry shortly before the Minister was found dead in his office. Fudge's relationship with Stresemann was a tumultuous one, as most recently demonstrated by Stresemann stopping one of Fudge's power grabs in the International Confederation of Wizards. After Stresemann appealed to other member nations to keep Fudge in check, an embarrassed Fudge cursed Stresemann's name on the ICW floor before storming out of the building._

_The ICW is mounting a full investigation against Fudge and Auror Dawlish, and has threatened to censure the English Ministry if Fudge impedes the process. While it is far too early to say if Fudge had his political rival assassinated, the future looks bleak for our Minister. _

The fall of Cornelius Fudge had begun.

* * *

On the day of the Final Task, Harry finished breakfast quickly and left the Great Hall alongside Daphne. He had been told that he was to meet his family. Frankly, he was perplexed. Sirius was not able to show his face in public, and he was certain the Dursleys only thought of him to pass the blame whenever anything went wrong in any of their lives.

He saw Krum talking with his parents and Fleur conversing with her mother in rapid French. Krum nodded at him while Fleur gave him a cold look

Off to the side stood Cedric, who was speaking with his father. The older man gave him a nasty glare, apparently offended that Harry had dared to beat his son at anything.

In the far corner stood Remus Lupin with a large black dog at his feet. Harry rushed to greet them, with Daphne following a step behind him. Padfoot leapt at Harry as soon as he got near.

"Down, Padfoot. Bad dog," Harry said through a chuckle. The dog seemed to scowl. "I'm glad to see you too, boy" Harry said. He shifted his attention and shook Remus' hand firmly. "Glad you could make it, Moony."

"I wouldn't have missed it. A pleasure to see you again as well, Miss Greengrass," Remus said.

Daphne nodded her head. She remembered Professor Lupin from the previous year, and Harry had told her about his Godfather.

Harry spent the rest of the day, at least until it was time for the Task to start, with his little family and Daphne. They walked through the grounds, allowing Padfoot to lead the way, since he had not seen his old school in so many years.

He said his goodbyes and Remus wished him luck on the Task. He and Padfoot walked off to find a place to watch. Harry and Daphne stood alone in front of the maze. She threw her arms around him and clung to him tightly, as if she was holding onto a lifeline. "Promise me you'll make it out of this maze and come back to me. Promise me, Harry," she instructed.

"I promise," he said. "It took me three years to get you. I'm not going to give that up," he said, putting a hand under her chin and gently lifting her head. "Besides, I rather think you're worth coming back to."

"And don't you forget it," she said, trying and failing to sound smug.

* * *

Harry stood in front of the massive hedge maze- it was much larger than it had been when Bagman told them about the Task.

The whistle blew, and he ran forward. The noise from the crowd was silenced as soon as he stepped between the towering hedges. The noise had been almost uncomfortably loud before he stepped into the maze, though Harry thought the Task seemed like it would be boring to watch.

He silently illuminated the tip of his wand before doing anything. It was getting dark and very little light made it into the maze naturally.

He ran forward until he reached a fork and turned right. "_Point Me,_" he whispered. It was a spell Hermione had found during their research, which allowed his wand to serve as a compass. He knew that the center of the maze would be somewhere to the northwest.

Another blow of the whistle told him that Krum had entered the maze, and Harry started running a bit faster. He rounded a corner and nearly ran into a beast that he had never seen before. It looked like a deformed crossbreed of a manticore and a fire crab, and it was enormous- twice as long as Harry was tall.

He cast a stunner at the creature, to test its defenses. The spell crashed off of its shell and into the hedge. That complicated matters. The scales of the dragon from the First Task were easy enough to overpower- they were designed to absorb magic. If hit by a powerful enough spell, excess energy would still hit the flesh behind the scales. Reflective shells like the one on the animal before him didn't absorb any magic, they merely redirected it. If something too powerful for the shell to reflect hit it, it would explode, surely killing the creature- something he did not want to do if he could avoid it.

The one unprotected area would be the underbelly. He was almost certain that the shell would not cover that.

"_Reducto!_" he cast the spell not at the animal, but at the ground in front of it. It was flipped cleanly into the air, allowing Harry to hit its unprotected area with a stunner.

Harry ran past the place where it came to a rest on the ground and further into the maze. The whistle blew again, and Fleur had entered the competition.

"_Point Me,_" he cast the Four-Point Spell again, and found that he needed to go further west. At the next fork, he turned left and stopped immediately in his tracks.

There, in the path before him, Daphne lay still on the hard ground. Her eyes were cast heavenward, looking but not seeing. She was dead.

_This isn't happening. It's a mistake. It can't be real._

Suddenly, she began to move.

"Oh God, Daphne, are you alright?" he asked.

She rose slowly to her feet and looked at Harry accusingly.

He took a step back and fell to his knees. _No. Please, don't let it be real. _

Her icy glare chilled him to the core.

Suddenly, he remembered something very similar to this from the year before, in Moony's first Defense class- one of his most profound failures. "You're a boggart," he said simply, all emotion gone from his voice. "_Riddikulus!_" The boggart exploded in a whirl of smoke.

The whistle blew again, telling him that all the Champions were now in the maze.

He started running again. He had made it no more than a few feet when the light from his wand died and complete darkness surrounded him. "_Lumos!_" Nothing happened.

_So I'm in the dark now, _he thought. He holstered his wand and reached both hands out to his sides to feel the hedge that surrounded him. Slowly and carefully, he inched his way forward.

The hedge on his left came to an end, so he turned in that direction and continued down the path.

From behind him came the sound of raspy breathing and quick footsteps.

He turned quickly, his wand already in motion, "_Stupefy!_" The normally bright-red light of the spell did not appear, but he heard it crash into the hedge across from him. There was nothing there.

He turned slowly back around and continued inching his way forward. The noises from behind him resumed as soon as he turned around, but he kept going. The maze kept changing directions, and forced him to turn so many times that he could not be certain which way he was facing. Suddenly, the meager light which had been present in the maze at the start returned.

"_Lumos!_" The tip of his wand lit as he intended. He turned around to look at the dark, twisting path through which he had just walked. Behind him was a normally-lit and seemingly endless straight path between the hedges.

_An illusion, _he thought, shaking his head.

He ran forward, stopping only when he reached a golden mist, floating just above the ground. _Another illusion? _he asked himself. _Well, only one way to find out. _He ran forward and into the mist. Immediately, he felt himself become inverted. The blood began rushing to his head, but he did not stop running. The only way through this was forward. As soon as he took his first step out of the mist, his world was righted.

He continued through the maze, but was stopped by another one of the creatures from before. He knew how to handle it this time, but he planned on trying something different.

Another Reductor to the ground in front of the beast flipped it. "_Impedimenta!_" The animal stopped, but Harry knew it would be moving again before long. He moved forward and disillusioned it. His jinx would wear off shortly, and the next Champion would be faced with a fully mobile, but invisible adversary.

He turned again, and stopped barely before running into a magnificent creature he had read about at length. A sphinx.

"Pose me your riddle, guardian," he said.

The sphinx obliged him immediately, but the riddle hardly deserved that title, it was so simplistic. "A spider is the answer," he said.

The sphinx nodded her colossal head and stepped aside. He supposed that the simple riddle was probably necessary- the sphinx would likely kill just about anyone who had to fight her for getting her question wrong.

He ran past the sphinx and reached another fork in the path. "_Point Me,_" he again intoned. He ran down the path to the right, and there, in the distance, sat the Triwizard Cup. He broke into a sprint. He was _so _close, he could almost feel the Cup.

He was thrown off his feet and flying to the right before his mind even registered that he had been struck. Towering over him was an Acromantula, one of the deadliest beasts in the world. He had no reservations about killing this monster.

"_Sectumsempra!_" The powerful curse struck it in its abdomen, slicing easily through its outer skeleton. A black fluid seeped from the wound, but the beast moved closer to Harry, preparing to attack again.

"_Confringo!_" The explosion knocked the giant spider backward, but seemingly did not harm it, as it advanced on Harry again. Its gigantic pincer closed around Harry's left arm and shredded through his robes and into the flesh, cutting all the way to the bone. Harry screamed in pain as the now-useless limb fell to his side.

"_Discerpo!_" he yelled, his anger fueling his power. The spell hit the Acromantula's earlier wound and slashed cleanly through its abdomen, severing it in the middle. He rose shakily to his feet, spat on the top half of the monster and kicked it out of his path before running again toward the Cup, albeit at a slower pace this time.

"_Stupefy!_" He spun and erected a shield on instinct as the red stunner nearly hit him in the back. Fleur Delacour stood on the path behind him, her arms seared from the disillusioned _thing _he had left for her.

She began flinging spells at him as she ran forward.

He jogged backward, blocking her attacks to her increasing frustration, without returning fire. He was close, and was not going to let this girl stop him, no matter how much the blond witch wanted to win.

He batted her spells away with ease.

"_Reducto!_" she screamed, putting as much power into the spell as she could manage.

Harry grinned wickedly as the spell approached him. "_Reverto!_" He cast his first verbal spell of the encounter, raising the same shield he had used to reflect the flames of his dragon on the First Task. The curse collided with his shield and was effortlessly repelled. Fleur's eyes widened as her own spell struck her in the chest, throwing her violently off of her feet.

He continued backing toward the Cup. Krum turned the corner and came into view at the same moment Harry clasped his fingers around the Cup's handle.

* * *

Voldemort smirked triumphantly at his most recent successes. The ICW was in the process of turning against the existing English Ministry over Fudge's role in the assassination of Alexis Stresemann. _An enemy of my enemy and all that, _he thought.

But his current mission had succeeded beyond even his expectations. The Triwizard Tournament had been the perfect moment for him to strike, the perfect diversion.

Dumbledore was brilliant- he did not deny that fact- and the boy was clever as well. That made his victory all the more impressive.

His old professor and his Order had been dedicated to guarding an artifact that was Voldemort's by right. Tonight, however, when the Dark Lord struck, Dumbledore's entire Order had been at Hogwarts, protecting the Fourth Champion.

Tonight, his journey to the Hall of Prophecy had been unimpeded. He would have to thank Dumbledore for making this so easy for him.

He laughed maliciously as he clasped his fingers around the Prophecy which had cost him so much.

* * *

The maze surrounding Harry and the other Champions melted away, and he found himself standing mere feet from where he first entered the hedge. Bagman walked to where Harry stood to collect the Cup for the formal Presentation.

Daphne rushed to embrace him, but her eyes widened when she saw his mangled arm. "You need to go get that healed. Now," she ordered, hugging him lightly, to avoid causing any further damage.

Harry nodded in acquiescence as he walked to the tent the school matron had set up. She sighed softly as she examined the injury, and waved her wand over it, sealing the wound. "Come to the Hospital Wing right after the ceremony, Mister Potter. It'll need a more thorough healing."

Harry stepped onto the stage that had been erected for the Presentation.

"_Sonorus,_" Bagman whispered, pointing his wand at his throat.

"Witches and wizards," he began, his voice magically amplified, "This concludes the Triwizard Tournament. And what a Tournament it was! It is the hope of the Ministry for Magic that the tradition of the Tournament will continue in the future," he said to the delight of the crowd, though the heads of the foreign schools both looked rebellious.

"Fourth through second places were determined by points before the Third Task," Bagman said. "In fourth place in this year's Triwizard Tournament, from Hogwarts, is Cedric Diggory." The applause was polite, but the Hufflepuffs did not seem to hold their heads as high as they had before the final Task.

"In third place, from Beauxbatons, is Fleur Delacour." Fleur took a bow as her name was called, her injuries from the maze not allowing her to display her usual pride.

"In second place, from Durmstrang, is Viktor Krum." Krum nodded his head and patted Harry firmly on the back.

Bagman paused dramatically, before saying, "And the Triwizard Champion, from Hogwarts, is Harry Potter!" The applause this time was deafening. Harry raised his good arm and waved at the crowd. "Mister Potter, please come forward and accept your prize."

Harry walked forward and shook the judges' hands. The foreign heads shook his hand somewhat reluctantly, while Bagman was enthusiastic. Crouch seemed disinterested in the whole affair. The one who worried Harry was Dumbledore. Instead of looking relieved or happy, the Headmaster looked preoccupied, like he was worried about something else.

Harry supposed he should be worried, too, knowing that Voldemort had not yet attacked him.

Harry took the Triwizard Cup and thousand-galleon prize from Bagman, before leaving the stage to go find Daphne.

* * *

On the last day of term, Harry met Dumbledore in his office.

"First Harry," Dumbledore began, "Allow me to congratulate you on your success in the Triwizard Tournament. I never had any doubt that you would make me proud."

"Thank you, sir."

"Alas, that is not why I have called you here."

"I thought not," Harry said.

"We were duped," Dumbledore said simply. "Voldemort did attack on the night of the Third Task, but in a manner I had not anticipated."

"What did he do?" Harry asked.

"A prophecy was made shortly before you were born," Dumbledore explained. "Voldemort knew part of its contents, but had never heard it in its entirety. For quite some time, he has been trying to obtain it. He was successful when we shifted our focus for the Third Task."

"What does this prophecy foretell?" Harry asked, running his hands through his hair. His left arm protested slightly at the movement, as it had not yet fully recovered from the Acromantula. He was just lucky that he had not been poisoned by it.

"I beg that you forgive an old man his mistakes. I should have told you the contents of the prophecy before now, but I had valid reasons to keep it from you."

"What does it say, Professor?" he asked, growing impatient.

Dumbledore lifted his wand to his temple and removed a memory.

* * *

Harry replayed the contents of the Prophecy over in his mind. _Neither can live while the other survives. _

"It has to be me," he said.

Dumbledore nodded his head. "That is correct. I, along with the rest of the staff, have attempted to prepare you for this without burdening you with this knowledge."

Harry was silent for a moment. "No harm done," he said. "I can accept your reasoning. I even appreciate it, actually. Thank you, sir."

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Daphne sat together on the Hogwarts Express.

"So, Hermione," Harry began, "How are things between you and Viktor?"

"I'm going to visit him in Bulgaria sometime this summer," she said, smiling widely. "What about you two?" she asked Harry and Daphne.

Harry squeezed Daphne's hand lightly. "We'll see where things go."


	17. Chapter 16

Dumbledore sat in the office of the Minister for Magic in a meeting Fudge had called because of the Alastor Moody's decision not to return to Hogwarts for another year. Alastor was an excellent teacher, but he felt that his skills would be of more use in the coming war effort.

"I'm telling you, Albus, Dolores is perfect for the job," Fudge said.

"As I recall, Miss Umbridge was an average student at best. Correct me if I am mistaken, Cornelius, but did she not receive an Acceptable on her Defense N.E.W.T.?" asked Dumbledore.

Fudge waved his hand in a dismissive manner, "She has real experience. That's more important than any test score."

"Ah," Dumbledore began, "I was unaware that she had served as an auror."

"Well, not as an auror," he conceded, "But she has a long history within the Ministry."

"As admirable as that is, I have already found a replacement," Dumbledore said with a serene smile.

"The edict has already been made," Fudge said. "You have no choice."

"Naturally, I will obey the new educational decree," Dumbledore agreed.

"It's settled then," Fudge said, beaming. "Dolores will start on the first."

"Alas, we seem to have reached a misunderstanding. I spoke truthfully when I told you that I have no intention of violating your decree, but that statue allows the Minister to appoint a professor if- and only if- the headmaster is unable to find one. I have already found my professor," Dumbledore said.

"Now see here," Fudge blustered, "This nonsense about You Know Who has gone on long enough. Dolores _will _be at Hogwarts to put a stop to it."

"No," Dumbledore said, "She will not."

"The decree can be changed, Dumbledore," said Fudge, his eyes narrowed at the defiance.

"You can afford no more trouble with the ICW," stated Dumbledore.

"Are… Are you threatening me?" Fudge asked.

"You have already done enough harm, Cornelius. Voldemort," Dumbledore paused as Fudge flinched at the name, "Voldemort has been given a year to act unimpeded, and I refuse to allow you to prevent my students from learning how to defend themselves and their loved ones. It is not I who has forced this discord."

Fudge looked at Dumbledore with open contempt, but nodded his head. "Don't think this is over."

* * *

Voldemort walked down Privet Drive with Bellatrix Lestrange on his right and Antonin Dolohov on his left. The street lights and full moon overhead lit their way.

Lucius had been the one to find Potter's location in the Ministry records. _He will be rewarded, _Voldemort decided, _Because tonight, I become invincible._ According to the Prophecy he had retrieved from the Ministry, only Potter could kill him. _When Potter is dead, I shall be invulnerable!_

"Antonin, raise the anti-apparition and portkey wards. Bella, immobilize anyone who dares attempt to flee- but kill no one. That pleasure shall be mine."

Bellatrix cackled as she prowled to the back door of Number Four Privet Drive, and Dolohov began chanting and waving his wand through the air in an intricate pattern.

Voldemort smirked at their quick action. He had brought his best for this, the most important of missions.

When he felt the sizzle of magic indicating that Dolohov's wards had been completed, he twirled his wand to break any of Dumbledore's defenses. He immediately lowered it and rubbed his chin in thought. There were no wards. None at all. There _had _been powerful protections in place at one time- the magical residue was overwhelming- but they were gone now. He laughed mirthlessly at Dumbledore's incompetence.

With a lazy flick of his wand, the front door was blown off its hinges. He supposed he could have made his entrance silently, but he had always had a penchant for the dramatic. Besides, they had nowhere to run anyway.

He stepped across the threshold and eyed the home with distaste. The polished white linoleum of the kitchen, the freshly painted white walls, the white carpets- everything was spotless. _Honestly, it looks sterile, _he owners of the home would likely be apoplectic at the sight of the debris under his feet. _Not that they will ever have a chance to see it._

Another swish of his wand revealed that three occupants were currently in the house. He stalked up the steps to the master bedroom to take care of the Muggles first. Voldemort blasted the door open and stepped inside the room.

An enormous Muggle wearing striped pajamas and holding a wooden club stood only feet from the door and stared open-mouthed at the Dark Lord as he walked into the room. An unattractive woman leaned against the back wall, cowering in fear.

"Get the bloody hell out of my house!" the man screamed.

Voldemort almost mistook the hostility for courage, but quickly realized that ignorance masked this man's cowardice. The piece of filth standing before him was ignorant of the Dark Lord's power.

A wave of his wand and both of the Muggles fell to the ground, unmoving. The man landed on his back and looked up at Voldemort, his eyes wide with terror. _Yes. Now, he understands._

"I shall deal with you in a moment," he said.

He turned and walked to the other occupied bedroom. The door swung open as he approached it.

"Mummy, daddy?" asked another gargantuan Muggle as he walked out of the room.

Voldemort snarled when he saw the child. This was not Potter, and no one else was in the house.

_Perhaps he will return shortly. All is not lost._

Voldemort quickly petrified the boy and levitated him into the room with his parents.

With another wave of his wand, the woman, while still unable to move, was allowed to speak.

"Where is Potter?" Voldemort asked, his voice quiet and his eyes narrowed.

"I don't know!" she blubbered.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice still soft. "_Crucio!_"

He held the curse on the woman briefly, relishing in her agony. "I shall ask you again," he said. "Where is Potter?"

"He left!" she wailed.

"When will he return?" Voldemort asked, twirling his wand in his long fingers.

"He won't. Vernon kicked him out," she said, her voice shaking.

"When?" Voldemort asked, struggling to control his anger. If he killed the woman, he would not learn where Potter had gone.

"Two," she paused, moaning in pain from the effects of the curse, "Two years ago."

Voldemort exhaled sharply, glaring down at the family on the ground in front of him. He turned and strode down the steps and out of the house.

"Is it done, my Lord?" asked Dolohov.

"Potter lives elsewhere. The Muggles got rid of him," Voldemort said, sneering as he mentioned the family inside the home.

"Did you dispose of them?" Dolohov asked.

"Not yet," Voldemort responded. "Fetch Bella."

Dolohov nodded and started toward the back of the house. Voldemort snarled as he stared at Number Four. The Muggles inside had delayed his invincibility, and for that, they would suffer.

"_Fiendfyre!_" Voldemort bellowed. Magical flames erupted from his wand, consuming the structure instantly.

When Bellatrix and Dolohov rounded the corner, the house was engulfed in a fire that illuminated the night like a beacon.

"Kill anyone who steps outside," Voldemort ordered.

He stood still for a moment, observing the mystifying dance of the animated fire destroying Number Four. He knew it was likely his imagination, but he thought he heard the distraught cries of the family trapped inside the burning house.

A young Muggle couple from the house next door walked out of their home to inspect the fire. A pair of Killing Curses from Dolohov and Bellatrix ended their lives.

An old woman's eyes widened when she saw the Dark Lord. _Ah, this one recognizes me, _he thought. Her life was extinguished by a jet of green light from Voldemort's wand.

He shifted his attention back to the burning building, tuning out the sounds of his followers' Killing Curses. Voldemort licked his lips as the top story of the home collapsed, showering the surrounding houses with ash.

The heat of the flame intensified and scorched the neighboring houses on Voldemort's command. He waved his wand again, and determined that no one inside the house still lived.

He ended the spell- something only a wizard of exceptional skill could do- and the flames lifted. When the smoke cleared, only the charred shell of a house remained.

"Raise the Mark, Bella," he instructed. "We shall send Potter a message."

"_Morsmordre!_" she yelled, casting the Dark Mark into the sky above Privet Drive.

"Now, we take out leave," Voldemort said. With a crack, the three disappeared into the night.

The next day, an article announcing the death of Harry Potter appeared in the _Daily Prophet._

_**The Boy Who Lived Lives No More**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_It is this reporter's sad duty to inform you that Harry Potter- Triwizard Champion, Defeater of You Know Who, and Savior of Our World- has been killed. In the hours before daybreak this very morning in Surrey, the young hero and his family were brutally slain, the victims of Fiendfyre._

_Evidence suggests that Mister Potter, who died as a result of the enchanted flames, single-handedly defended his family and neighborhood from as many as a dozen assailants before succumbing to the effects of smoke inhalation. Ministry spokeswizard Percy Weasley suggested that the attack was led by none other than Sirius Black, Harry's own godfather. _

_The charred bodies of Harry and his family were retrieved from the wreckage of his home by aurors shortly after dawn. The Dark Mark hovered above the remains of the Mister Potter's residence, serving as a cruel reminder of what we have lost._

_Also killed in the senseless attack were seven Muggles and Arabella Figg, a squib who had long been Mister Potter's neighbor._

_For a complete biography of Harry Potter, turn to page three._

* * *

Harry looked over the paper he held in his hands at his Godfather sitting on the other side of the table.

"Sirius, if you kill me again, could you not use Fiendfyre? From what I hear, it's an unpleasant way to go," Harry said.

"Sure thing," said Sirius. "I'll be sure to make it quick."

"I appreciate that," said Harry with a grin.

"I'm glad to see you're taking this well," Sirius said.

"Don't get me wrong," Harry said, "It's a shame about Mrs. Figg, but I didn't know her very well."

Sirius frowned, "That's now what I meant, Harry."

"I know," he sighed, "I just can't bring myself to be upset about the Dursleys. Maybe they didn't deserve it, but I won't miss them."

Sirius nodded his head, "Fair enough."

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence though Sirius could not help but worry about his godson.

The fireplace on the other side of the room glowed as the Floo sprang to life, and Harry rose to greet their visitor. Daphne emerged from the fire, her eyes bloodshot, as if she had recently been crying.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice small.

Harry nodded, and she ran to him.

Their lips met in a passionate celebration of life. Harry thought he could see the dark and dreary confines of Grimmauld Place lighten while she kissed him. She moaned softly as Harry ran his hands through her dark hair and pulled her close. Their tongues collided and Daphne thanked an assortment of deities that Harry had not been killed. He noted that her mouth tasted lightly of peppermint.

The kiss was rough as they both sought confirmation that the depth of their feelings was matched by the other.

Harry realized that this moment, more than any other, cemented their relationship and status as a couple. He thought back on the journey that had brought them together, and understood that a series of crucial and emotionally-charged events had defined their romance.

_A young girl, hidden behind a locked door on the Hogwarts Express, distanced herself from the world._

_The same girl looked up at him with a desperate glint in her eyes and asked for a distraction._

_He vowed to protect her as he looked down at her prone form on a bed in the infirmary._

_He held her close to his body and pulled her out of a world of her dreams._

_They spun wildly around the dance floor, passion evident on both of their faces._

The kiss deepened, and Harry understood that how they had reached this point was inconsequential. Nothing mattered but the present and the future- his future with Daphne. As he held her in his arms, he knew that he would do anything for her. He would kill for her. He would die for her.

At that moment, nothing in the world mattered but Daphne.

"They said you were dead," she whispered when their lips broke apart. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You'll never lose me, Daphne," he said.

"Promise?" she asked, looking pleadingly into his eyes.

"Promise," he confirmed, nodding his head. They both understood that this was a commitment to much more than a casual teenage romance.

"I owled Dumbledore. He said that the _Prophet_ was wrong, and told me how to find you," she said, "But I just had to see you with my own eyes to know that you weren't... that you weren't-"

Their lips connected again, in a tender display of affection this time. It was much gentler than their first kiss. Harry rubbed circles on her back with one hand and held the other against the back of her head. Though neither had yet said the words, they both knew they had fallen for each other.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat in the Wizengamot Chambers, awaiting the vote of no confidence against Cornelius Fudge. He himself had seen that the vote would be scheduled, and that it would never take place.

The crowd was currently rather boisterous, after Dumbledore's announcement that Harry Potter was, in fact, alive. Lucius had, of course, already known that his Master's mission had failed. The Dark Lord had been most displeased that his information had been faulty.

He recalled his meeting with Fudge after the motion for the vote of no confidence had been made and seconded.

"Cornelius, you cannot allow this vote to happen," Lucius said.

"How can I keep it from happening, Lucius?" asked Fudge, running his hands through his thinning hair.

"The aurors are still loyal to you. Use them."

Fudge nodded his head, "Yes, of course. The Wizengamot will back down to a show of force," he said. "Thank you, old friend."

"The Wizengamot will need restructuring after you do this. You'll need to replace many of the members to ensure the body's loyalty. I've taken the liberty of compiling a list of candidates," Lucius said, handing Fudge a stack of parchment.

"Of course, of course. But what of Dumbledore?" Fudge asked.

"He'll raise a fuss internationally, but he doesn't wield the clout he once did," Lucius said. "You've seen that he's losing his touch. He would allow the criminal Sirius Black free reign while insisting that the Dark Lord has returned."

"You're right, of course," Fudge agreed, "But he still has power within the Wizengamot."

"Only as much as you allow him to have," Lucius argued. "When we've secured the loyalty of the body, you can remove him."

Lucius shifted his focus to the meeting when Dumbledore began speaking again.

"In our last session, a motion was made to hold a vote of no confidence against Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. We are assembled here today to carry out that vote," Dumbledore said. "Bring in the Minister."

The double-doors in the back of the chamber swung open, and Fudge marched through them with John Dawlish at his side, flanked by a contingent of aurors. The aurors' wands were drawn and held loosely at their sides.

Dumbledore's expression remained neutral, but his eyes dimmed. He recognized all the aurors as Fudge's supporters.

"Dumbledore, this is over," Fudge declared.

Dumbledore remained silent, hoping that the members of the Wizengamot would not stand for this. He knew that he could single-handedly defeat Fudge and his aurors- and the Minister was likely aware of that as well- but if he used force to quash Fudge's defiance, he would be seen as a tyrant.

He needed just one member to act. If someone else stood up to Fudge, Dumbledore could bring his considerable power to bear without being seen as the instigator. If Fudge's men attacked first, he could, and would be expected to fight them, but he knew that the aurors would be under strict orders not to act unless they were first attacked.

Public opinion was a powerful force, and he could not afford to be labeled an insurrectionist.

He scanned the room, and immediately knew that Fudge would win the day. Most of the Wizengamot members looked either terrified at the turn of events, or ashamed that they could do nothing to stop it. A few members, all of them from darker families, appeared anxious but kept their expressions calm. Dolores Umbridge looked positively giddy.

His eyes found Amelia Bones, the one person he expected not to stand for this. On her face was a look of fear- fear that action against Fudge would lead to a civil war. The Wizengamot members, who only moments earlier had been prepared to deem Fudge incompetent, were still convinced that Voldemort had not returned. They only saw the immediate threat, that of Fudge and his aurors. Their fear had caused them to try something that history had proven would fail: appeasement.

One thing was clear; no one would do anything to stop this.

Dumbledore nodded his head in defeat. He would take up this fight in the ICW.

"Now that that's settled," Fudge said with a smirk, "I motion that Dumbledore be stripped of his position in the Wizengamot."

"Seconded!" yelled Umbridge, jumping out of her seat.

"Well, let's put it to a vote," Fudge demanded. His aurors raised their wands and surveyed the crowd.

Dumbledore examined the room again, and realized that his fellow Wizengamot members had nearly all been cowed. Some of them would not vote against him, but no one would speak on his behalf.

"All in favor of removing Dumbledore raise your right hand," Fudge instructed.

Well over half the room raised their hands.

Fudge looked around the room with a sneer and made a mental tally, before turning his attention to Dumbledore. "Get out of here, Albus," he said with a superior look.

"If that is what the members of the Wizengamot desire, I will, of course, oblige," Dumbledore said. "But if any should ever seek my assistance, they shall have it."

After Dumbledore had left, Fudge took the Chief Warlock's seat. "We have reached a new age, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice carrying through the silent chamber. "Join me, or be trampled."

Lucius smiled as he watched his Master's plans fall into place. Dumbledore had lost a significant portion of his power, and Fudge's government had become completely illegitimate over the course of minutes. He stood and applauded. With some hesitancy, the rest of the Wizengamot followed.

* * *

Voldemort stood before his Death Eaters with a slight smirk on his face. Even though his plan to kill Potter had been delayed, his political machinations had gone better than expected.

"My Death Eaters," Voldemort began, "In order for our real war, the war of blood, to be fought, we must first wage another against Cornelius Fudge and his Ministry. While this war is not our true objective, it will position us for success in our campaign for purity. From this moment forward, your primary objective is to cause havoc in the Ministry."

"What about Potter, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix.

"If you locate Potter, alert me of his location, and I shall take care of him in due time. Do not personally act against him." Voldemort was anxious to kill the Potter boy and obtain his Prophesized invincibility, but it would be counterproductive to his goals to attack anyone outside the Ministry.

He also knew that Potter was no slouch. Voldemort was supremely confident in his abilities, but knew not to underestimate Potter. Arrogance had led to his fall last time, and he would not make the same mistake again.

"I shall make my return known to the world very soon," Voldemort said. "And when I do, our war will have truly begun."

* * *

Dumbledore stood outside the hideout of Horace Slughorn. He was disturbed by how quickly things were moving, and knew he had to act.

He walked into the house without invitation.

"Dumbledore?" Slughorn asked.

He nodded, "Good morning, Horace."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" asked Slughorn.

"I believe you already know the answer to that," said Dumbledore, his eyes boring into the larger man.

Slughorn sighed, "I can't help you."

"Are you quite certain?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, I am," Slughorn said with finality.

"Then I am truly sorry, Horace, but you leave me little choice," Dumbledore said. Slughorn looked at him questioningly, but did not say anything. "_Legilimens!_"

Dumbledore prowled through the man's memories, careful not to pry into anything private. Eventually, he found Slughorn's memory of his conversation with Tom Riddle about horcruxes. Apparently, the budding Dark Lord had wanted to split his soul into seven pieces.

Slowly, Dumbledore withdrew from the man's memories.

"Allow me to apologize again, old friend, but I cannot permit you to remember that I learned of Tom's horcruxes. If he should call on you again, it would be for the best that you have no recollection of this conversation. _Obliviate!_"

With that, Dumbledore left.

* * *

On one of the last days of the summer holiday, Dumbledore arranged for a meeting with Harry.

"My boy, I recently confirmed an earlier theory of mine," Dumbledore said, "A theory about how Voldemort survived his own Killing Curse."

He went on to explain how Tom Riddle had split his soul and sealed the pieces into containers in an attempt to secure immortality.

"What could these horcruxes be, sir? And where would they be hidden?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort is an arrogant individual. The containers for his soul will not be inconsequential trinkets, nor will their hiding places be random. He has an affinity for the founders," Dumbledore said. "We must search for items they once possessed. As for the locations, I suspect he will have chosen places that are highly symbolic- either of himself or of power and prestige."

"Do you have any theories?" Harry asked.

"Several," Dumbledore answered. "We will discuss them during the coming term."

"We will be hunting them together. Won't we sir?"

"That is my intention," Dumbledore agreed.

"Good," Harry said, looking determined.

"There is one other thing," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "I told you that it was Voldemort's intention to create six horcruxes. It is my belief that he unknowingly created another."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry with a small frown.

Dumbledore shook his head, "It is all conjecture at this point. I will not burden you with anything more until I have researched it further."


	18. Chapter 17

Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office, awaiting a meeting with Cornelius Fudge. The Minister had been cordial while requesting an appointment with the Headmaster, but Dumbledore suspected that Fudge was attempting to assert his authority at Hogwarts.

The wards alerted Dumbledore when Fudge entered the grounds. He frowned slightly when he realized how many people accompanied Fudge; he had not expected the Minister to come alone, but was surprised that he had brought seven others.

The wards surrounding Hogwarts were the best in the world, bar none. He could have used them to stop Fudge and his entourage, but hoped to avoid any confrontation today.

Fudge walked through the door first, his escort trailing behind him. John Dawlish stood on his left and Dolores Umbridge on his right. The additional aurors stood near the exit. Fudge dropped into the seat across from Dumbledore, but all the others remained standing.

"Allow me to introduce you to the new professor of Defense against the Dark Arts," Fudge said without preamble, motioning to Umbridge.

Dumbledore took a moment to scan the room. He smiled pleasantly, "I fear he is elsewhere at the moment, Cornelius. Would you like me to send for him?"

Fudge scowled, "I'm talking about Senior Undersecretary Umbridge."

"This again, dear fellow?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes never losing their twinkle. "I believe we have already had this conversation."

"The status quo has changed, Dumbledore. You're not the Chief Warlock anymore. You've lost your spot in the ICW. You're the Headmaster of this school only by my good graces, and you will do as I say!" Fudge said, his face twisting into a snarl.

"I disagree," Dumbledore said, smiling pleasantly.

"You disagree?" Fudge asked, his voice rising with each syllable. He rose from his seat and drew his wand in a fluid motion, pointing it at Dumbledore's head. His voice shook as he said, "I've had enough of this."

Dumbledore remained seated, his hands resting calmly at his sides, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop by several degrees. Dumbledore looked up at Fudge, his blue eyes burning with anger that the Minister had never before seen. "Put down your wand, and take a seat."

His voice was soft, but laced with power. Fudge realized that he was no longer looking at the benevolent Headmaster, but at the most powerful sorcerer in the world. His knees weakened, and he fell back into the chair.

Dumbledore waved his wand once, and the six aurors fell to the ground stunned, leaving only Fudge and Umbridge. The Minister's eyes widened at the casual display of magic.

"Listen to me, Cornelius, for I shall only say this once," Dumbledore began, his voice striking Fudge with a quiet power. "I allowed you to play your little game in the Wizengamot because a confrontation in front of the entirety of our country's nobility would have forced them to choose sides. It would have caused a civil war that we can scarce afford while Voldemort builds his army. I told you months ago that I will not allow you to harm the children of this school, and that continues to be true. Take your aurors, and leave my castle."

With another wave of his wand, the aurors' unconscious bodies morphed into six woolen socks. Fudge gulped nervously as he rose to his feet. The man sitting in front of him was someone to be feared.

He collected the six aurors, placing them in the pockets of his robes, while consciously avoiding Dumbledore's piercing gaze. He motioned for Umbridge to follow him and twisted the doorknob, but it would not open.

"Do not bother trying to return," Dumbledore said, his voice as calm as it had been at the beginning of the meeting. "The wards would make it… unpleasant for you."

The door swung open, and Fudge ran out of the office. Umbridge eyed Dumbledore fearfully before following her mentor, struggling to keep from trembling.

* * *

Voldemort and the most able of his followers stood in the graveyard of his father. The crescent moon overhead cast an eerie glow on the tombstones.

Voldemort considered this place to be especially important- it was the sight of his rebirth, after all, and he used it for the most important of ceremonies.

"Step forward, young Malfoy," the Dark Lord said, his soft voice carrying through the darkened cemetery. The proud young man fell to his knees and kissed the hem of his Master's robes. "Your arm."

Draco extended his left arm, his black sleeve rolled up above the elbow to reveal an unmarred expanse of pale skin. Voldemort pressed his yew wand into the boy's forearm. Draco bit down on his tongue and struggled not to recoil as his flesh began to bubble. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as the pain became almost intolerable. It was with a horrified expression that he watched as the image of a skull and snake, the Dark Mark, became seared onto his skin. As soon as the Dark Lord lifted his wand, the pain subsided, replaced by an uncomfortable itch.

"You have received this honor at your father's request," Voldemort said. "Not because I have any need of your meager skills. For your own sake, you should not fall short of his recommendation."

"I will not fail you, My Lord," Malfoy said, his head bowed.

"No," Voldemort agreed, "You shall not."

"What would My Lord have me do?" he asked.

"Your first task is simple," Voldemort said, "A task, I daresay, even you will be able to complete. You are to watch Harry Potter, and report your findings to Severus, who shall report them to me."

"Would you not have me kill him?" Malfoy asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort released the curse after seconds, but the Malfoy heir had already collapsed.

"You would do well to hold your tongue. I understand that you fancy yourself to be a rival of his, but Harry Potter is beyond you," he said, his crimson eyes boring into the young man. "You will do as I instruct, and nothing more."

Draco struggled to his feet, panting, "Yes, My Lord."

"Go now," Voldemort instructed him.

He watched Draco limp out of the graveyard and activate his portkey back to Malfoy Manor.

"Lucius, you wished to speak with me about the Ministry?" he asked.

Lucius nodded his head, "Yes, My Lord. Since Fudge's takeover of the Wizengamot, he has become… rebellious."

"Elaborate," Voldemort demanded.

"Cornelius is enjoying his newly found power," Lucius said. "He has become… less receptive to my suggestions."

"He has proven susceptible to the Imperius Curse," Voldemort reminded him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "We can take direct control of him."

"He's becoming increasingly paranoid," Lucius said. "He uses a group of aurors as a personal guard and is never alone. My access to him is quite limited."

"Perhaps it is time we proceed with our other plans," Voldemort mused, seemingly talking to himself. He turned his head slightly and looked at Snape. "Severus, what have you discovered about Dumbledore's conversation with Fudge?"

"It did not end well, My Lord. Dumbledore incapacitated his aurors and told him that he is no longer welcome at Hogwarts." Voldemort nodded his head as he considered this.

"Fudge will likely remain silent about the confrontation," Voldemort said. "If word of resistance spreads, it will generate hope. If, as I believe is the case, Fudge's government plans to become more oppressive, hope is something he will need to squash. It is the enemy of tyrants."

He once again directed his gaze at Lucius, "Speak with your French contacts, and tell them to be on the alert. We will move earlier than we had originally planned."

* * *

Harry, Daphne, and Hermione sat in the Prefects compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Harry was happy with the recognition, but hoped it would not be too much of a time commitment.

"The prefects of Hogwarts have a proud history," said the Head Boy. "It's up to the eight of you fifth years to continue that legacy."

Harry had to struggle not to roll his eyes at the boy's pompousness.

He took his patrol schedule from the Head Girl, and followed the girls out of the compartment. The worst part of the meeting, he decided, was the calculating look Draco Malfoy gave him throughout.

After their thankfully uneventful patrols of the Express, the trio found an empty compartment near the back of the train.

* * *

They made their way onto a carriage for the ride to the castle.

"Rita Skeeter is vile," Hermione said. "I can't believe she wrote that story about you without checking the facts!"

"That's how Skeeter functions. She only cares about sensational stories," said Daphne.

"But writing that Harry had been killed? Doesn't she even care about reporting the truth?"

"No," Daphne said simply. "And neither do most of her readers. The Ministry doesn't do anything to regulate her, so she writes whatever suits her mood."

"I didn't think they got the _Prophet _in Bulgaria," Harry said.

"They don't, but word of the story spread through the continent," Hermione said.

"How was Bulgaria?" asked Daphne.

"It was wonderful! Viktor's going to be on tour most of the year, but he asked me to write him," Hermione said excitedly. "I like him quite a lot."

Daphne smiled brightly at the declaration and grabbed Harry's hand. "We have to sit with our houses tonight, but I'll be able to take meals with you the rest of the time."

Harry grinned happily. War was about to consume his world, but at that moment, the only thing that mattered was Daphne.

* * *

After the tables had been cleared, Dumbledore rose to speak.

"Welcome to all of you!" Dumbledore said, his arms spread wide. "And good luck in the coming year.

"First, allow me to get the unpleasantness of reminding you of the rules out of the way. The Forbidden Forest is, of course, forbidden, and Mister Filch has informed me that the complete and, ahem, extensive list of banned items is available in his office.

"There is one addition to our staff." Dumbledore said, motioning to a man sitting on the right side of the high table. "Igor Karkaroff, who many of you might remember from last year's Triwizard Tournament, has agreed to stay at Hogwarts to teach Defense against the Dark Arts. Given the situation outside these walls, I implore that you listen to Professor Karkaroff's instruction.

"As I told you last year, Lord Voldemort has returned." Dumbledore paused as the students gasped. "The Ministry for Magic continues to deny his resurrection, and has put our society at a great disadvantage. This has caused Hogwarts and the Ministry to have something of a… falling-out… but rest assured, Hogwarts and its staff will always protect the students who walk these halls.

"It is for that reason that Hogwarts has severed ties with Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry for Magic."

* * *

Fudge sat on a dais above the rest of the Wizengamot, acting as the Chief Warlock. A full contingent of aurors was stationed throughout the chamber.

"Members of the Wizengamot," Fudge rose to his feet, his voice booming, "We have assembled this evening to hold a vote on Legislative Action 39, a bill designed to secure the future of our society."

More than half the people in the room stood and applauded.

Fudge spread his arms, basking in the ovation, "Today, we forge a new order, one which will last a thousand years!"

The hall shook with the crowd's roar of approval.

"Moving forward, there will be no room for discord- unification is a necessity!"

Nearly everyone in the room stood, screaming in their enthusiasm for the Minister.

"Now is the time for us to seize our destiny! I call for an immediate vote on Legislative Action 39!"

The thunderous applause of the crowd was deafening.

A man near the back of the chamber, who had remained seated through Fudge's speech, stood when the noise from the crowd subsided.

"Minister," he began, his voice resolute, "It is my understanding that this piece of legislation would give you the power to rule by decree."

"That is correct, Daniel," Fudge said calmly.

"The Wizengamot will not stand for this, Cornelius," the man said. "Perhaps it is time for Dumbledore to return!"

Fudge stared at him for a moment, before turning his head and nodding.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Dawlish's wand moved on Fudge's signal, with the green light striking the man before he could resume his seat.

"We will not accept disunity!" Fudge cried. "The future of this nation requires that we think unilaterally! All in favor of passing Legislative Action 39 into law?"

Everyone in the chamber raised a hand.

Fudge smiled viciously, "At this time, I would like to announce the establishment of the Ministerial Protective Service."

The crowd rose to their feet again, clapping feverishly at the declaration.

"The MPS will be given all available resources to eliminate anti-Ministry behavior, and will fall directly under my authority," Fudge said. "Decorated auror John Dawlish will have the honor of leading the MPS in their protection of our nation."

_**

* * *

**_

The Death of Democracy

_By Xenophilius Lovegood_

_In a shocking display of politics, democracy has been forced out of the British Isles. Yesterday, in an emergency session of the Wizengamot called by Cornelius Fudge himself, the Minister took the reigns of our government from the rightful legislative body. The assembly started with the introduction of Legislative Action 39, a bill that would allow the Minister to rule by edict. Only one man, Daniel Turpin, had the courage to question Fudge's blatant abuse of power. John Dawlish, Minister Fudge's most trusted aid, struck down Mister Turpin with the Killing Curse in the Wizengamot Chambers. One would have expected cries of righteous indignation at the murder of a respected member of our community, but that was not the case; rather, the crime was met with thunderous applause._

_Legislative Action 39 passed unanimously, making Cornelius Fudge king in all but name. In his first act under the new law, Fudge instituted the Ministerial Protective Service, a secret police force which has been given carte blanche to put a stop to any activity he considers to be treasonous. John Dawlish, the man who moments earlier had used a curse deemed to be Unforgivable to assassinate an upstanding citizen, was chosen to head the MPS._

_This latest travesty of justice is but one of many crimes committed by Minister Fudge over the past months. Only weeks ago, he led a coup seizing control of the Wizengamot from Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of our age, and he has spent the better part of the last year defaming the character of not only Dumbledore, but of Harry Potter. All the while, he has steadfastly denied the resurrection of Voldemort, laying the blame for all his crimes on Sirius Black._

_This reporter asks that you rise up against this tyranny, and demand the restoration of the rightful government of Wizarding England- demand the return of Albus Dumbledore and the revival of the Wizengamot. Above all else, do not lose hope that a unified Britain can throw off the yoke of oppression. For without hope, all is lost._

_I will leave you with a statement from Cornelius Fudge, a quotation which rings true for all who hope to see an end to the injustice. "Moving forward, there will be no room for discord- unification is a necessity." _

Harry sat down the magazine, glad that the strange fourth year had given him a copy. On the whole, it was quite bizarre, with most of the pages containing stories about fanciful creatures, but that particular article had been enlightening.

He turned his head to face Daphne, who sat beside him at the Ravenclaw table. "What do you think?"

"That Xenophilius Lovegood is in trouble," she said softly.

They continued eating breakfast until the post arrived. Harry picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet, _and began reading the front page.

_**A Traitor amongst Us**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of a tabloid printed out of his home in Ottery St. Catchpole, has brought shame to professional journalism in his attempt to lead an uprising against Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. In a libelous article about the historic Legislative Action 39, Lovegood tried to weaken the Ministry's position, in what was no doubt an attempt to usurp the position of our beloved Minister._

_Shortly after the publication of the inflammatory article, members of the Ministerial Protective Service razed the Lovegood home and captured Mister Lovegood, who foolishly attempted to hide from the MPS. For his treasonous actions, Lovegood has been sent to the high-security ward of Azkaban Prison, where he awaits Minister Fudge's decision as to whether his treachery warrants the dreaded Dementor's Kiss. Ministry spokeswizards have assured us that this is only the first in a welcome purge of insurrectionists._

_The MPS, which is made up of the elite of the elite, is already working tirelessly to ensure the safety of Wizarding Britain, and we at the Daily Prophet applaud Minister Fudge for his decisive action in defense of our country._

Harry stared at the article for a moment after he finished reading it. As strange as it sounded, he was disappointed with Rita. She had always treated him fairly, but he supposed she did whatever was convenient for her. She was a survivor, he realized, and she planned to live through the turning tide. It would be foolish for her to continue opposing Fudge.

He threw the paper down in disgust, hoping that Mister Lovegood's last article had at least made a difference. He excused himself from the table and went to meet Dumbledore for their first lesson of the semester.

He walked through the third floor corridor and met the Headmaster in the abandoned classroom they had used for practical lessons.

"Good morning Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, "I trust you are well?"

"Yes, sir. What are we practicing today?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation.

Dumbledore chuckled at his enthusiasm, "I intend to teach you an offensive spell that, I daresay, you will find quite useful."

"Which spell is that, sir?"

"I believe you recall my duel with Gellert?"

Harry nodded his head.

"Very good. Fear can be a powerful tool," he said, "Voldemort and his Death Eaters often use intimidation to cause their opponents to make mistakes. The spell I used to subdue Gellert… do you remember it?"

"I remember what it looked like," he said. "It was a rope of fire, I think, but I've never heard of a spell like that."

"No, you would not have read about the fire whip in any school book," Dumbledore said. "It is as useful as it is difficult to perform. As you have seen, it can be used to capture someone alive. It can also have… lethal effects; and, perhaps most importantly, it can be extremely intimidating on the field of battle.

"The incantation is '_Flagro Flagello._'"

Harry nodded his head and unsheathed his wand. "_Flagro Flagello!_"

Nothing happened.

"Intent is critical to the execution of this spell. You must visualize the flame."

He formed the clear image of a rope of fire in his mind, and tried again, "_Flagro Flagello!_"

Again, nothing happened.

"Use your occlumency. Clear your mind of all but the spell before casting it."

Harry closed his eyes, and allowed his emotions to fall away. In his mind, he pictured a vivid, fiery rope. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he could almost feel the blaze's intense heat as he cast, "_Flagro Flagello!_"

A lasso of fire erupted from the tip of his wand. He guided it carefully around the room, making sure not to harm himself or the professor. He crashed the whip against a desk, splitting it into two pieces.

"Good show!" Dumbledore praised, applauding lightly. "As you can see, the fire whip requires great precision- particularly if you intend to use it to subdue your enemy."

"I don't intend to subdue any Death Eaters," Harry said.

Dumbledore sighed, but did not respond to that statement.

"Now," he eventually said, changing the subject, "Let us retire to my office, so we can begin something much duller and much more important."

The pair made their way up to the Headmaster's office, where he withdrew his Pensieve.

"I intend to show you a series of memories, dealing with Lord Voldemort and his past," Dumbledore said.

"You believe these memories will help us defeat him?"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

The first memory came from a man named Bob Ogden, who had worked at the Ministry. Harry and Dumbledore watched as he traveled to the home of the Gaunts and met the only remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin.

"That was Voldemort's family?" Harry asked after they emerged from the Pensieve.

"Indeed."

The next memory also took place at the Gaunt home, but it was from the perspective of Morfin, Voldemort's uncle. He watched as the two men conversed in Parseltongue, discussing his mother's obsession with the Muggle man that had become his father. He noticed Tom Riddle's dissatisfaction with the state of Slytherin's bloodline, and the glint that appeared in his eye when he saw the ring on Morfin's finger.

"What does this memory tell you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Voldemort hated his Muggle relatives- despised them, even- and Morfin disappointed him."

"Very perceptive," Dumbledore said, agreeing. "He killed his Muggle father and grandparents and took the ring Morfin so cherished on that very day."

"Did he use the ring, sir?" Harry asked. "As a horcrux?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"What happened to Morfin?"

"He was blamed for the murders of the Riddles, and died in Azkaban."

"That's terrible!" Harry said. "I know he hated Muggles, but he didn't kill them."

"He confessed to the crime. His wand had been used for the murders, and he truly believed he had committed them. No one saw any reason to look any further into the matter."

"He believed he committed the murders?"

"Oh, yes. It is quite complicated to insert false memories into a person's mind, but it is not beyond the capabilities of Tom Riddle."

They were both silent a moment until Dumbledore asked, "What do you think of the Gaunt house?"

"It was a hovel," Harry said. "And Voldemort seemed unimpressed."

"Indeed he was, but the house was significant to him; despite its poor condition, it represented both his heritage, and a transition in his life."

"You think he hid a horcrux there?"

Dumbledore smiled, "Yes."

"When will we go find it?" Harry asked.

"Tomorrow, I think," he said, "But I have one last memory to show you today."

Once again, Harry plunged his head into the Pensieve. He observed the recollection of Hokey the house elf, in which Tom Riddle enchanted the elf's aging mistress, Hepzibah Smith. The old woman showed Tom her treasures- Slytherin's locket, which Harry had seen earlier around the neck of Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's mother, and Hufflepuff's cup. He did not miss the flash of crimson in Riddle's eyes.

"What happened to Mrs. Smith?"

"She was killed, presumably by the house elf from whom I received this memory."

"He altered the elf's memory, too?" Harry asked. "Just like with Morfin?"

"Voldemort would have seen no reason to change something that had worked so well previously."

"He took the cup and the locket, didn't he? For horcruxes?"

"I believe so," Dumbledore said.

"Do you know where he hid them?"

"I have several ideas," he said, "But for now, we must focus on the horcrux I believe is hidden in the Gaunt house. I will meet you in the Astronomy Tower tomorrow morning, before lessons."

* * *

The next morning, Harry ate very little at breakfast; his stomach churned at the thought of his coming mission. He could not help but feel that something was going to go wrong.

His mood worsened when an owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet _in front of him. An article on the front page described the arrest of Amelia Bones. Apparently, the MPS believed that she had been "_questioning the leadership of Minister Fudge and petitioning for the return of Albus Dumbledore._"

He scowled as he took out his wand and ignited the paper.

"Be careful today," Daphne said, clutching him tightly.

"Of course," Harry said, smiling. His mood seemed to improve at her touch.

"I still think I should come with you," she said. "You never know when you might need my protection, Potter."

"Dumbledore thinks it should just be the two of us," he said.

"All right, but you'd better come back to me," she said, before kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Always."

* * *

Harry and Dumbledore flew brooms from the Astronomy Tower to the edge of the Hogwarts wards.

"You're not a bad flier," Harry said, after they landed, "For an old man, anyway."

Dumbledore chuckled, "I believe I could have given you a run for your money eighty years ago.

"Now," Dumbledore said, "Take my arm. I fear we will have to take a bit of a walk this morning. It would be unwise to risk apparating near the site."

Harry grabbed the Headmaster's arm, and felt the squeeze of apparition. He reappeared on the dirt lane he had seen Bob Ogden walk in Dumbledore's Pensieve. The bright morning sun belied the nature of their visit to Little Hangelton. They started walking.

As the Gaunt house appeared in the distance, Harry was surprised by how innocuous it looked. A thicket of trees surrounded the dilapidated wooden house and moss grew freely on the planks that remained standing. The shack looked like it had been abandoned for centuries.

They approached the front door, and Dumbledore extended his hand to within an inch of it.

"Place your hand near the door," Dumbledore instructed, "But do not touch it."

Harry did as he was told, and felt something distinctly… magical.

"Can you feel it, Harry?"

"It's buzzing, sir."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, beaming. Harry could not help but be impressed by the Headmaster's levity. "The door is heavily warded."

"How can we get past it?" Harry asked.

"The most obvious way would be to forgo the door," Dumbledore said. "Tom did not think to extend his wards to the wall."

He frowned, as if disappointed in his former pupil.

"And the other way?"

"Break the wards," Dumbledore said simply.

"How is that done?"

"It is a difficult branch of magic," Dumbledore said. "It requires both exceptional magical skill and strength of mind. You must be able to feel the wards… visualize the way in which they were constructed… and use your own magic to remove them. Allow me to demonstrate."

"Can I help?"

"Not this time. You will learn to break wards in the future, but your first attempt will be in a controlled environment. Any mistakes with Tom's wards would be… disagreeable."

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the door and closed his eyes. Harry watched in awe as the air around the Headmaster seemed to ripple as magic poured off of him in the indirect confrontation of two of the most powerful wizards to ever live.

Dumbledore waved his wand back and forth in patterns Harry assumed were specific to the ward. Sweat dripped from his face, as his brow furrowed in concentration; and as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

"Invigorating," Dumbledore said, his eyes snapping open. He motioned to the door, "Shall we?"

"After you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled as he opened the door.

"Ah," he said, "Inferi."

Dumbledore and Harry walked into the home and saw more than a dozen animated corpses, in various states of decomposition. Harry found their pale gray skin to be mildly nauseating.

"Fire whips, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, "_Flagro Flagello!_"

Harry guided his fire whip through the small room, shepherding the Inferi toward the center. He saw that Dumbledore was doing the same thing on the other side.

When all the beasts were corralled by two ropes of flame in the center of the room, Harry turned to Dumbledore and asked, "Shall we finish them, sir?"

"Yes, that would be for the best."

Both of them jerked their wands inward, toward the middle. The two spells met in the center of the room, cleanly halving the reanimated corpses.

That threat eliminated, Harry took a moment to examine the interior of the home. A thick coat of dust covered everything, with the heavily draped windows dampening the bright sunlight. The dark stone walls were blackened by years of filth.

Dumbledore looked around the room and smiled, "Do you notice the difference?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Never matter; it is something most people would miss. That wall," he said, motioning to the section nearest the fireplace, "Is false. In both of the memories we observed, this room extended a meter further in that direction."

Harry nodded. He honestly could not remember, but he would take Dumbledore at his word.

Dumbledore placed his hand on the wall, and felt that it was solid. He shook his head, a slight frown on his face. With a casual flick of his wand, the wall faded into nothingness. "How little Tom must think of his enemies."

"What do you mean?"

"He did not bother to place any wards on his wall."

Harry took a moment to observe the newly-opened section of the house. Sitting on the only clean spot of the stone floor was Morfin's ring.

He looked up at Dumbledore, but noticed a strange look in the Headmaster's eyes as he walked toward the ring.

He stooped down over it, and Harry realized immediately that something was wrong. He picked the ring up, and held it in his hand for only a moment before firmly placing it on his finger.

Without delay, Dumbledore's fingertips started blackening. It was a curse- a terrible curse- and Harry did not know how to counter it. It spread rapidly down his fingers and onto his hand. It appeared as if the flesh was dying before his eyes.

He racked his brain for any sort of counter curse.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" It did not work, but he had not expected it to.

The curse continued to race up his hand, and Harry knew he had to act quickly, before it reached his arm.

_Think, Potter!_ He looked at Dumbledore for assistance, but he seemed to be in a stupor.

He looked around the room, and saw the Inferi littering the floor. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do, but he did not like it.

"_Flagro Flagello!_" he yelled. The flame was more controlled this time- more precise- as he guided it to the Headmaster's arm. With a single fluid motion, he drove the fire whip through Dumbledore's wrist, severing his hand and cauterizing the wound.

The withered hand hit the floor with a dull thud, and Harry watched with morbid fascination as it turned to ash.

Dumbledore acted oblivious to the fact that his hand had been removed; he stared longingly at the ring resting in the pile of ash.

When Harry attempted to assess the situation, he felt a call to place the ring on his own finger. A small voice in the back of his head, something which reminded him of the Imperius Curse, was persistent, but unpersuasive. _A compulsion charm, _he realized.

He quickly cancelled it, knowing that Dumbledore had been unable to resist its call, but he had no idea how to dispose of the curse that had claimed the Headmaster's hand.

Dumbledore's eyes cleared when the compulsion charm was lifted, and he looked curiously at the pile of ash.

"I'm sorry about that, sir."

"Not at all," Dumbledore said, waving his other hand in a dismissive manner. "The curse would, quite surely, have spread without your action."

"I don't understand why the compulsion worked on you, sir. You should have been powerful enough to have overcome it."

"A compulsion charm is made infinitely more powerful when its victim already wishes to do what they are being compelled to do," he explained.

"But why did you want to put on the ring in the first place?"

"That is a story for another time," Dumbledore said, "A time that draws ever nearer.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the ring.

"A most ingenious curse," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "It is powered by the very existence of the horcrux."

"So, to disable the curse, we have to destroy the horcrux?"

"Precisely."

"How will we do that?" Harry asked. "They're difficult to destroy, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are," Dumbledore said. "But if I am not mistaken, the item we need currently rests deep below the halls of Hogwarts."

Harry nodded as he recalled the Basilisk venom's destruction of the diary. "Is the ring safe to handle?"

"I believe the curse only takes effect when the ring is worn," Dumbledore said, "But there is little reason to take that chance."

He conjured a small, silver jewelry box, and dropped the ring into it with his wand. Harry took the box and carefully pocketed it.

"And now, let us return to the castle."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat in Fudge's office, with two aurors standing on either side of his chair.

"Cornelius, have you considered my earlier request?" he asked.

"I have," Fudge said.

"What have you decided?"

"I don't believe it will work, Lucius."

Lucius nodded his head, but seethed internally. The Minister seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

"How are your plans to reconstruct the Wizengamot progressing?"

"That's none of your concern," Fudge said curtly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You seem to be displeased by my presence, Cornelius."

"Indeed?"

Lucius nodded stiffly, "Have I not done a great deal for you over the years, old friend? Am I not the one responsible for your current position?"

Fudge scowled, "You're a hanger-on, Lucius, just like Dumbledore. You're after my job, aren't you? I don't need Dumbledore, and I certainly don't need you!"

Lucius wondered how long Fudge had been holding back that outburst.

"Is that so?"

"John, remove Mister Malfoy from my sight," he said, waving his hand for Dawlish.

"That is unnecessary, Cornelius. I can show myself out," Lucius said, rising gracefully to his feet, "But know this- you've reached a point from which there can be no return."

With that, Lucius walked out of the office, his cloak swishing behind him.


	19. Chapter 18

"_Open,_" Harry hissed, looking at the serpentine figure on the sink in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The sinks moved apart, revealing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

"Are you ready?" asked Dumbledore, mounting his broom.

"Absolutely."

Harry and Dumbledore plunged into the abyss, holding their illuminated wands aloft to light the way.

The trip down took longer than Harry remembered, but he decided that a controlled ride on a broom was considerably slower than a freefall.

Once on the ground, they walked through the Chamber. It looked very much the same as it had three years earlier, Harry decided. The only difference, so far as he could tell, was the decomposition of the giant snake. The creature had begun to smell truly foul.

Harry and Dumbledore both cast Bubblehead Charms on themselves before approaching the slain Basilisk.

"Take the fang, Harry," Dumbledore said, removing a small, silver box from his pocket and placing it on the floor.

Harry found a fang, the same one he had used to destroy the diary, and returned to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and an unattractive ring slowly levitated out of the box, before settling on the ground.

"Do be quick," he said.

Harry stood over the ring, the fang in his hand, poised and ready to strike. A voice in the back of his head asked, begged, him to put the ring on his finger, but Harry knew better.

In a single motion, he plunged the fang into the ring's golden band, which emitted a terrible scream and a viscous, black smoke.

"Very good!" Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore took the fang from him, putting it in the box from which the ring had been taken. As Harry prepared to leave the Chamber, he noticed Dumbledore scrutinizing the black stone that had been dislodged from the horcrux.

* * *

Harry and Daphne sat on the floor in an empty classroom, his invisibility cloak lying forgotten beside them. The pale light of the crescent moon crept through the window and streaked across the floor, casting a glow on her face as she spoke.

"Not once in the past fifteen years have they as much as feigned interest in me," she paused, considering her next statement. "I hate them for it."

He wrapped his arms around her slender waist and pulled her into his lap.

"Social standing is the only thing that matters to them- the only thing that's ever mattered to them."

"You don't think they'd-"

"Join Voldemort?" she finished his thought. "No."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "They value advancement, true, but they'd never defer to anyone."

She felt Harry's breath on her neck as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"My sister and I," she started. "We were close once, but not anymore. That's my fault, I suppose."

"What happened?" he asked, running a hand through her hair.

"My grandmother passed away," she said, "Not long before first year. After that, I was… distant."

Harry cupped her chin in his hand, turning her head and planting his lips gently against hers.

When their lips broke apart, she said, "She'd always been the most important person in my life. And after she died, I tried to keep anyone else from getting close enough to hurt me. It's why I started ignoring you."

"All that's in the past, Daphne," he said "And for the record, I'll never hurt you."

"I know," she said, leaning back into his embrace.

"The necklace you wear," Harry began, "It's hers, isn't it? Your grandmother's?"

She smiled fondly, "And my wand. I practiced with it when I was younger, and it chose me after she passed.

The next moment was passed in comfortable silence, before Daphne spoke again.

"All right, Potter," she said. "Your turn."

Harry proceeded to tell her about his life with the Dursleys, and the stark indifference with which he had been treated.

"I tried to impress them, to make them proud," he said, "But no matter how hard I worked or how much I achieved, I wasn't able.

"I wanted their love for so long- most of my life, really- but by the time they were killed, they meant nothing to me.

"I tried to make myself care about what happened to them, to make myself regret it, but I couldn't. I just didn't feel… anything."

Daphne raised a hand and placed her finger over his lips, silencing him.

"They _never _deserved you, Harry. The truth is, you shouldn't have felt any real sorrow over what happened to them; they weren't family to you. Death is always tragic, but it's completely understandable that what happened to your relatives didn't hit you any harder than the death of any other strangers." Her voice was soft and Harry found it incredibly soothing. "You'll avenge them along with everyone else that Voldemort's killed."

"That'll be incidental. They won't even cross my mind when I'm fighting Voldemort."

There was a long pause, Harry's words hanging in the air.

"I want to be there," Daphne said, "When you fight Voldemort."

He was silent for only a moment, and then he nodded. "You'll have to be trained."

She quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You're already good- one of the best in school," he said, "But if you're going to be fighting Voldemort and the best of his Death Eaters, you need to be better."

Daphne sighed, "You should train Hermione, too."

They were quiet for a while after that, each taking comfort in the other's presence.

The war would get much worse, Harry knew, but he would gladly fight it for moments like this.

* * *

His patent leather shoes struck the stone floor in long, confident strides, his footsteps echoing through the silent dungeon.

Draco Malfoy prowled through the corridor on his way to the Potion Master's office.

He rapped sharply on the door three times, before Snape pulled it open.

"What brings you to my office at this hour, Draco?"

"It's about my mission, sir."

Snape's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and Draco seemed to miss it. "What have you learned?"

"I've been watching Potter since we got back to Hogwarts. He," Malfoy grimaced. "He's very good."

"I have spent the past four years earning Potter's trust," Snape interrupted. "And I know that he is quite capable. I sincerely hope you have learned of more than his expertise with a wand."

Malfoy swallowed nervously, but nodded. "The best way to hurt Potter is to hurt Greengrass."

* * *

Harry's jaw dropped as he gazed down at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

_**To Preserve the Nation**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_In an effort to secure the future of wizarding Britain, Minister Fudge has enacted sweeping reforms. In an announcement to the press this very morning, Fudge proclaimed that the Wizengamot, which has long been our nation's leading legislative and judicial body, has been disbanded by Ministerial Decree Twelve._

_The Wizengamot has existed since the founding of our nation, operating with complete impunity for most of that time. It was not until the public outcry of 1712 that the organization ceded part of its power to form a Ministry of Magic._

_The Wizengamot has a long and proud history, which has unfortunately been sullied during recent times. Minister Fudge speculated that the group had fallen under the influence of Daniel Turpin, the notorious traitor who has already been tried and executed for his crimes. The Minister presented a compelling case, and this reporter can say that the dangerous impact of Turpin's ideology necessitated the dissolution of the body._

_But the downfall of the Wizengamot is not the only change enacted by our Minister to ensure the continued dominance of Britain in the wizarding world. Beginning tonight, a curfew will be imposed on all civilians. The Minister cited the continued need to capture Sirius Black, the convict who has eluded authorities since his escape from Azkaban Prison over two years ago, as the reason for this strict new measure._

_These changes will likely pose a temporary inconvenience, but rest assured that they are required. We of wizarding Britain can only hope that we will always have Cornelius Fudge to protect our interests. His relentless efforts to preserve our nation should be an inspiration to us all._

* * *

Lucius Malfoy walked through a crowd of harried-looking people in Diagon Alley, quietly observing them as he passed. Their eyes were cast downward, refusing to look at the others, as they moved at a rapid pace, eager to finish their business and get home. The Ministry's new regulations made life difficult for everyone, but no one would speak out against them for fear of being considered a traitor.

Fudge's attempt to suppress his people fit perfectly into Voldemort's plans.

Lucius lengthened his strides, and was soon looking up at the imposing structure of Gringotts. He ascended the steps quickly, his dark cloak billowing behind him. At the top of the steps, the highest point in the Alley, he turned to face the crowd.

"_Sonorus,_" he intoned, pointing his wand at his throat.

"My fellow Britons," he spoke, his commanding voice carrying throughout the Alley. The people, who had been moving quickly only moments earlier, came to a halt and lifted their heads to look at Lucius.

"We are an oppressed people," he said, his platinum hair whipping in the wind. The crowd began a slow march toward the steps of Gringotts.

"Cornelius Fudge has been given nearly unlimited power, and he has become drunk with it!" Lucius looked down at the throng of people gathered below him, and knew that he had them.

"He has flagrantly abused his position, denying us the liberties and rights guaranteed to us as citizens of this nation!" The crowd was behind him now, talking amongst themselves about his words.

"I must keep this short, for rest assured that Fudge's troops will be here momentarily." The people looked around, their expressions nervous, but no one moved and their conversations increased in volume. "But I promise you that there is a way out!"

"What can we do?" yelled someone from below.

"We must rise up against Fudge's oppression!" Lucius answered. "The one thing that every tyrant fears the most is the people who he rules. Let's give Fudge reason to fear us!"

The crowd- now more of a mob, really- reached a fever pitch.

Lucius raised his arms into the air, controlling them as if they were marionettes.

"We are amassing an army, both at home and abroad, to combat Fudge's illegitimate reign. We will free our country, and each of you has a part to play!"

Lucius paused for a roar of approval.

"When our army acts, we ask that you raise your wands against those who would seek to control you!"

He smiled broadly at the screams of affirmation.

"Ours is a proud nation, with a glorious history. But a sickness threatens to consume her from within, and we must fight to ensure her survival!"

He fought to suppress a laugh, as the crowd of people who had distrusted him only months earlier rallied around him.

A cloaked figure with crimson eyes stood back from everyone else, watching the scene with acute interest.

Lucius looked at the man, who nodded his head slightly and apparated away. His Master was pleased with his performance.

"We are at our strongest united. So unite we must! Together we will expel the tyranny from this island, and hold Cornelius Fudge accountable for his crimes against us."

Lucius looked past the group gathered below him and saw that the MPS had arrived, and knew his time was up.

"Go now," he ordered. "Go back to your lives. But be alert! Our time is soon, and when it comes, we shall all stand together."

Lucius activated his portkey just as Fudge's army began climbing the steps.

* * *

Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table, his hand in Daphne's, nervously eating his dinner. He had been told to meet Dumbledore in his office after finishing his meal, and had a good idea what was in store for him.

He sat down his fork, and stood.

"Be careful?" Daphne asked, standing beside him.

"Always." He turned to leave, but Daphne grabbed him by the arm, spinning him and kissing him soundly.

Harry wore a wide grin on his face as he walked to the Headmaster's office.

"Enter," Dumbledore called.

Harry walked into the room, taking a seat across from him.

"Why haven't you had your hand healed, sir?" Harry asked, noticing that Dumbledore's hand had not been replaced.

"It cannot be healed, I fear," Dumbledore said. "Wounds caused by dark magic generally cannot be repaired."

"Dark magic?"

"The fire whip is not dark, strictly speaking, but it shares many characteristics with spells of a darker nature."

"I," Harry began, "I'm sorry, Professor. I-"

"It is likely that the spell on the ring would have killed me if you had not acted so quickly," Dumbledore said, waving his remaining hand. "Most spells capable of amputation come with the same drawback.

"But that is neither here nor there. I called you here because I believe I have found the location of another of Voldemort's horcruxes."

Instantly on the alert, Harry asked, "Where?"

"A cave," said Dumbledore, "In which he terrorized a pair of orphans."

"When do we go?"

"Would you be opposed to leaving immediately?"

"Not at all," Harry said.

The pair made their way out of Dumbledore's office and to the edge of the Hogwarts wards with minimal conversation. Harry was not nervous, per se, but intensely focused.

"Take my arm, Harry."

Harry grabbed Dumbledore's uninjured arm, and immediately felt the squeeze of apparition. The smell of saltwater was the first thing Harry noticed after they arrived. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing on a small platform of rock on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a violent sea.

"Follow me," said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore and Harry descended slowly, carefully measuring each step on a narrow ledge.

"Ready for a swim?" Dumbledore asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

Dumbledore cast a warming charm on himself, and dove headfirst into the bitter, salty water, with Harry following suit.

Harry swam behind the Headmaster, and was impressed by the much older man's technique.

Harry's experience with swimming was limited to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, in which he had been under the effects of gillyweed. Without the aid of the plant, this swim was much more awkward and laborious.

He was grateful when the water became shallower, and eventually gave way to dry land.

"Can you feel it, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. The entire cave seemed to be saturated with a familiar presence.

"It feels like the Gaunt house," he said, nodding, "Like Voldemort."

"Very good," Dumbledore beamed, "Voldemort's style is quite… distinctive."

Harry walked forward slowly, following the path of Voldemort's magic without opening his eyes, with a very pleased-looking Albus Dumbledore following two steps behind him.

Harry ran his hands over the coarse stone walls as he walked, feeling the grit of the rock but looking for the source of the magic.

He came to a sudden halt, almost causing Dumbledore to bump into him.

"This is it," Harry said, opening his eyes and waving his hand over an area of the wall, "But I'm not sure what to do."

"Never matter," Dumbledore said. He stepped forward, and began waving his wand at the section Harry had noticed, scoffing internally as he realized what was required to gain entrance. "Blood."

"Blood?" Harry asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, withdrawing a long, silver knife from his robes. In a fluid motion, he ran the blade along his injured arm and rubbed the bloody limb against the rock.

The rock seemed to melt away, revealing a passageway deeper into the cavern. Harry walked through the archway first, with Dumbledore healing his wound before following.

If the antechamber had felt vaguely like Voldemort, this room reeked of him. Harry inspected the room closely before beginning his examination. They were at the edge of what seemed to be a rather large lake, and the only source of light, aside from their wands, was in the center of it.

Harry walked along the shore of the lake, following the trail of Voldemort's magic. The pervasive feeling of _evil _got stronger with each step he took. He reached out his hand, wrapping his fingers around a rope that he could not see with his eyes.

"I've found something," he said.

Dumbledore smiled broadly, "Pull it up, my boy!"

One hand after the other, Harry pulled the invisible rope upward until a small boat broke the glossy surface of the lake.

"Will we have to ride in that?" Harry asked.

"I believe so, yes."

"Will it hold both of us?"

Dumbledore ran his long, thin fingers thorough his beard, "Voldemort will not have considered weight, but magic. That is to say, the boat will support only one wizard."

"Which of us will go?"

"You misunderstand. The boat will support only one mature wizard. Voldemort would not have considered you to be a threat, as you are underage."

Harry remained silent for a moment.

"His mistake," he finally said.

They both sat uncomfortably in the boat which lurched forward under its own power.

The boat moved forward at a steady pace without any prompting, and Harry took a closer look at the lake. The light from his wand reflected off the water, and just below the surface, he spotted pasty, white limbs.

"Inferi," Harry said. "There are Inferi in the lake."

Dumbledore merely nodded. "Tom never was above using the same trick twice."

The boat came to a sudden stop when it hit the rocky shore of the island in the center of the lake.

"Do be careful not to step in the water when you get out," Dumbledore said.

Harry exited the craft first, his feet finding the dry stone surface of the island. Dumbledore followed, his movements swift and graceful.

Both walked toward the center, where a stone basin sat, emitting the light Harry had seen from the shore.

Dumbledore approached it with his wand weaving through the air in a complicated pattern.

Harry examined the basin closely, and saw that it was filled with a dark green liquid. He watched as Dumbledore attempted to vanish, charm, transfigure, and remove the liquid to no success.

Dumbledore waved his wand once more, conjuring a fine, crystal goblet. "There is a request I must make of you."

"What's that, sir?"

"The potion must be drunk," Dumbledore said. "I need you to ensure that I drink all of it."

Harry hesitated for only a second, "No."

"No?" Dumbledore asked, as if it had been quite some time since he had heard the word.

"Don't be daft." Harry pointed his wand at the ground, chipping off a piece of the rock. He twirled his wand again, and watched as the stone morphed into a collie of the same colour as the island below their feet.

"_Imperio!_" he intoned, his voice clear and unwavering as he used his first Unforgivable Curse. He turned to look at Dumbledore, "Conjure a dog bowl."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly at Harry's audacity, and did as he instructed. He plucked the bowl out of the air, and plunged it into the basin, filling it to the brim with the potion.

Dumbledore sat the bowl down in front of the dog, which immediately started drinking. It resisted at first, but Harry quickly asserted his control over the animal's simple mind.

The bowl was filled and emptied three more times before they reached the bottom of the basin. Sitting there was a locket that Harry had seen before, a locket that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.

He held his hand over the horcrux, determining whether Voldemort had placed any curses on it. Strangely, he felt nothing; it did not seem that Voldemort had ever even held it.

He reached his hand into the basin and retrieved it. He brought it closer to his face, examining it closely, but could not tell that there was anything special about it.

He tucked the necklace inside his robes, knowing that he and Dumbledore would destroy it when they returned to the castle.

He transfigured the dog back into a piece of stone, and returned to the boat.

* * *

Later that evening, Harry and Dumbledore sat once more in the Headmaster's office.

"I want to thank you again, Harry, for your help earlier," Dumbledore said. "You were magnificent."

"It was nothing, sir."

Dumbledore looked as if he disagreed, but did not press the matter. "Now, let us take a look at that locket."

Harry handed it to Dumbledore. "It doesn't feel like a horcrux."

"Indeed," he said, opening the cover. A letter written on a yellowed piece of parchment landed in his lap.

Dumbledore's eyes scanned the words before he handed the note to Harry without a word. Harry read the letter quickly, and his eyes rose to meet the Headmaster's.

"R.A.B." Dumbledore repeated, his eyes narrowing as he considered the initials.

"Do you know who it could have been?"

"I have an idea, but I do not yet know. When I am certain, you shall be the first to know."

* * *

"The representative from France has the floor."

"Thank you, Supreme Mugwump," said the French ambassador, rising to his feet. "This body has already been apprised of the situation in England since our refusal to recognize Cornelius Fudge's government.

"It has been the hope of our organization that the people of England would resolve this crisis with minimal international assistance, but that outcome has grown less likely with each passing day," he said. "The most insurmountable problem has been the complete lack of opposition. There is, however, one person around whom the people have rallied.

"Lucius Malfoy fled Britain after announcing his intention to oppose Fudge, and has been granted asylum in France. Mister Malfoy has joined us today," he said, motioning to Lucius, "and I yield the floor to him."

"Thank you, Ambassador," Lucius said, walking to the center of the chamber. He was silent for a moment, slowly spinning around, looking up at the surrounding dignitaries. "My nation is at a crossroads."

His voice was firm and confident, but he did not use the same commanding tone that he had in Diagon Alley.

"We must move forward, past all the strife and turmoil, or be forever lost.

"I know that some of your nations still believe Cornelius Fudge to be the rightful ruler of Britain. It is an understandable belief. Fudge has not always been the tyrant that he has now become. I once held him in very high esteem and still have a great deal of respect for the man he once was," Lucius said, his voice smooth and understanding. "But power has consumed him. And like a rabid dog, he must be put down before he spreads his disease."

"Are you suggesting we euthanize your Minister for Magic?" asked the Belgian representative incredulously.

"I am suggesting, sir, that we do whatever is necessary to depose a despot," Lucius said, his voice remaining steady. "The rampant corruption within his Ministry has rendered it obsolete."

"What do you propose?" asked the Supreme Mugwump.

"I have under my command a group of likeminded individuals, who are ready and willing to fight for our cause, and the people of Britain will stand beside us. But for us to have a chance at overthrowing Fudge and his troops, we require international recognition and assistance."

The ambassadors sitting around the room jumped to their feet, yelling at the others in their respective languages.

"Germany's sons and daughters will be by your side when you defeat Fudge!" yelled the German representative. It had never been proven conclusively that Fudge had ordered the assassination of their beloved Minister, but he had made an enemy of the German people nonetheless.

"You will have France's support as well!" There had never been any doubt about that. The French Minister was in his pocket.

The volume of the yelling increased at these pronouncements. It seemed that no one else was offering support, but Lucius was encouraged when no one spoke against him directly.

"You will be silent!" the Supreme Mugwump pounded his gavel, attempting to regain order. His success was limited.

"If you wish to vote on this matter when Previous Question is ordered, you will return to your seats and allow Mister Malfoy to finish!" All conversation stopped, almost immediately, and the ambassadors reluctantly seated themselves. "Mister Malfoy, if you would."

"Thank you, Supreme Mugwump," Lucius said. "My request is a simple one: The people of Britain already stand behind me. I ask that you do the same."

"What of Dumbledore?" yelled the Belgian representative.

"Dumbledore hides behind the battlements of his castle! He is either unable or unwilling to fight for our country," Lucius said, allowing his genuine disgust with Dumbledore to shine through his words. He turned again to face the Supreme Mugwump, and they locked eyes, with him struggling not to flinch against Lucius' passion. "Help us take our country back."

Lucius nodded once, "I yield the rest of my time."

He then returned to his seat and the French Ambassador stood again.

The Supreme Mugwump inclined his head slightly, "The floor is yours, Representative Girard."

"The perspective of Mister Malfoy himself was the only thing we awaited, Supreme Mugwump. I move the Previous Question on Motion 217."

"Second," shouted someone from further back in the chamber.

"The Previous Question is moved on Motion 217. All who are in favor of ordering the Previous Question on Motion 217 will rise," the Supreme Mugwump ordered.

All but a few rose to their feet.

"Be seated," he ordered. "All opposed will rise."

The members who had not risen before got to their feet.

"Be seated. There being two-thirds in favor of the motion, the affirmative has it and the Previous Question is ordered on Motion 217. The question is on recognizing Lucius Malfoy as the interim leader of the legitimate government in England. Those in favor?"

Lucius looked around the room, trying to count the people as they stood. It was going to be close and he did not have an accurate count by the time the Supreme Mugwump ordered them to sit.

"All opposed?"

The rest of the chamber rose, but Lucius immediately recognized that there were less people in this group. _We've got it! _Lucius thought.

"The Motion carries. Minister Malfoy, take the seat reserved for the English representative to this body. You will speak for your country until such time as you appoint a delegate to the position."

Lucius complied immediately, taking the empty seat to the right of the Supreme Mugwump.

"The representatives from France and Germany have pledged military support to your cause, and an international force shall be your disposal should you require it. Good luck, Minister Malfoy."

* * *

The O.W.L.s, Harry decided, had not earned their reputation. He lay awake reflecting on the previous two weeks after finishing his last examination.

He suspected that he had taken the top marks in Charms and Defense, but knew that Hermione and Daphne had challenged him in the other subjects.

Both girls had improved rapidly with Harry's training. Daphne's dueling had improved dramatically, with her making gains in power and precision. But Daphne's most significant progress was in her reflexes- even Harry had difficulty hitting her. Hermione had become more proficient in spellcasting, but lacked an affinity for fighting. Harry pitied anyone she managed to curse, but hoped she could avoid unfriendly spells long enough to use her wand.

He was certain that the O.W.L. scores would be evidence of the hard work they had done, but knew that the real benefits would not be seen until the war made it to them.

* * *

"Cornelius Fudge," Lucius Malfoy said, his voice carrying across the deserted London street, "You must atone for your crimes!"

He walked forward, toward the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, with Bellatrix Lestrange at his side and a score of Death Eaters and foreign aurors behind him.

"Come out, Cornelius!"

Lucius smiled as dozens of pops indicated the arrival of their enemies.

The MPS, every bit as well-staffed as the aurors had been before the fall of the Wizengamot, attacked with more than half its full force, John Dawlish leading from the front.

With cries of "_Avada Kedavra!_" Lucius and Bella stepped forward, meeting them head-on. The Death Eaters and aurors filed in around them, sending a barrage of lethal curses as they moved.

Dawlish faced Bella as the witch cackled and sent curse after curse at him. He erected a powerful shield- he had been one of the force's top aurors, after all- that took the brunt of the attack.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" she screamed again, forcing him to dive to the ground. "_Expelliarmus!_"

She snatched his wand out of the air.

"Serviceman Dawlish," she mocked, her voice warbling, "You've lost your wand!"

His eyes widened as the crazed witch stood over him, pointing her wand at his heart.

"_Crucio!_"

With more pops, the rest of the MPS arrived and began casting spells.

Bellatrix was forced to lift her curse and rejoin the fight. Dawlish took a moment to catch his breath before rising unsteadily to his feet, and examining the surrounding battle. They were _winning!_

With no small amount of effort, the MPS pushed the Death Eaters and their foreign allies back. Dawlish smiled, knowing that a victory would ease his pain.

Suddenly, all spell-fire from the Death Eaters stopped. No shields were raised, but the MPS was unable to hit them. Spell after spell evaporated before reaching the line of black-robed wizards.

"Stop!" ordered Dawlish. The MPS stopped casting instantly, but did not lower their wands.

The second all the spells stopped, a dark cloud formed in the middle of the Death Eaters' ranks. It moved forward, thickening and spreading. From it materialized a figure that Dawlish recognized immediately. The Dark Lord Voldemort looked somehow more terrible than he had all those years ago, but his twisted features and overpowering aura were unmistakable.

Voldemort took a step toward the MPS, the assembled Death Eaters falling to their knees behind him. The foreign aurors hesitated briefly, but joined their compatriots in submission. Lucius had told them who the real leader of the new regime would be. While most reasonable Englishmen would not have followed Voldemort, the atrocities of his first rise were not well-known to those outside Britain. Besides, the French had known all along that they would really be supporting, and the Germans cared far more about vengeance than who led them.

A considerably paler John Dawlish struggled not to take a step back for each step the Dark Lord took toward him.

Voldemort smiled, a look that made him more terrifying, and began his attack. His wand was a blur, and before any of the MPS could react, the men standing on either side of Dawlish fell to the ground.

"Shields!" yelled Dawlish, feeling naked without his own wand.

His men complied, but to no avail. A vortex of black flame billowed from Voldemort's wand, enveloping those closest to the Dark Lord.

"Attack!" Dawlish's voice was strained, as his hand inched toward his portkey.

A few of his men attempted to curse Voldemort, but it was a half-hearted effort. Voldemort twirled his wand, and the curses reversed direction, sending their casters to the ground.

For John Dawlish, the day was lost. "Portkeys!"

This time, everyone acted. The surviving members of the MPS portkeyed back to the Ministry, leaving their dead littering the streets of London.

Voldemort laughed humorlessly as he examined the carnage.

"Shall we follow them to the Ministry, my Lord?" Lucius asked.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

"When, Master?" asked Bellatrix, eager to continue the bloodletting.

"When the public demands it." Voldemort's smile was feral. "Fudge will attempt to reassert his control after this embarrassment, and the people will give us their full support."

* * *

Dumbledore stood, looking down at his students, another year having just ended.

"The world outside these walls is no longer safe," he said. "The threats posed by both the resurgence of Voldemort and the corruption of the Ministry are real and grave. For this reason, Hogwarts will be open to all who seek haven within its fortifications. The castle will be expanded to house any who look here for refuge, so I encourage you all to implore your families to consider taking up residence here.

"For those of you who choose to leave, I hope to see you again next year. Best of luck to you all." Dumbledore returned to his seat, wishing there was something he could do to change the somber atmosphere.

* * *

"I have no desire to go home, Harry," Daphne said as they walked past the castle's wards. Harry intended to return to Grimmauld Place. The castle was well-defended, but nothing topped the Fidelius Charm.

"Take my hand."

And with a pop, they were gone.


	20. Chapter 19

Summer with Daphne, Harry decided, was far superior to summer without her.

Never before had empty summer days seemed so meaningful and pleasant. But with Daphne, a day in which he just talked, accomplishing nothing, was not a wasted day.

He, Daphne, and Sirius sat at the table one morning, discussing the war. Harry was unable to leave the house because he was too recognizable, but as Padfoot, Sirius could venture into London and learn the news.

"It's not like last time," Sirius said. "Voldemort's strategy is completely different."

"Why do you think he changed his methods?" asked Daphne.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said. "He's as sharp as they come, but not much older than Remus and me. He's a force to be reckoned with now, but during the first war, he was still young. Now, he's got more than twenty years of experience."

"What happens if Lucius dies?" she asked.

"Well, Voldemort loses his legitimacy. Right now, he has the backing of the ICW because of the front Lucius is putting on. If he were removed from the picture, the Confederation would probably appoint a new interim Minister, and Voldemort would lose his foreign aurors and public support."

"What do you think's going to happen with the Ministry?" asked Harry.

Sirius considered that for a moment. "The MPS is a police force, not an army. They won't be able to match the Death Eaters and the foreign aurors Lucius has recruited. I expect Voldemort will take the Ministry before he sets his sights on Hogwarts. The real problem is that people see him as the lesser of two evils when compared with Fudge. The press is starting to sway, as well."

Sirius threw the most recent edition of the _Daily Prophet _on the table. He had found it the last time he had gone into London.

_**To Curb the Coming Storm**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_The outcry over the recently imposed martial law has been harsh, but the Ministry has responded swiftly. MPS forces have conducted raids on a number of respected families, including the Longbottoms. Augusta, the acting head of family, was captured alive and imprisoned in Azkaban._

_The Goyle estate in Manchester was burnt to the ground at dusk yesterday, though whether anyone was inside at the time is unknown._

_Two former aurors, Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, were forced to flee when confronted by members of the MPS._

_The crimes of all these upstanding citizens? Anti-Ministry Behavior. _

_The public has shown support for all these individuals and the martyr Daniel Turpin. And while righteous anger is understandable, it is this reporter's duty to inform you that anti-Ministry activity and disobeying orders from MPS servicemen are offences punishable by life imprisonment in Azkaban or execution._

_Stay safe, dear readers._

Harry sat the article down when he heard the Floo activate. Out of the flames stepped Albus Dumbledore, wearing robes of royal blue.

"Harry," he said. "Enjoying your holiday?"

"Very much, sir," Harry said, taking Daphne's hand in his.

"Have a seat, Headmaster," said Sirius.

"This is not a social call, Sirius," he said. He turned his head to look at Harry. "I believe I have determined the identity of our friend R.A.B."

Harry sat up straighter and asked, "Who is it?"

"Your godfather's brother, Regulus Black."

"He was just like the rest of my family," Sirius said, jumping to his feet. "Twisted and concerned only with blood."

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "But perhaps not.

He pulled the locket they had retrieved from the cave out of his robes and sat it on the table. "Have you ever seen a locket like this one?"

Sirius picked it up and examined it for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm… I'm not sure. It does look familiar. I think I saw something like that when we cleaned the place after Harry and I moved in."

"Do you recall what was done with it?" Dumbledore asked.

Sirius's eyes scrunched as he tried to remember.

"No," he said. "I don't."

"What about Kreacher?" asked Harry.

Sirius paused, considering it. "If anything can find it, it'll be that ruddy elf. Always has had an unnatural obsession with those relics."

"It's worth a try," said Harry.

"Kreacher!" Sirius called.

The elf appeared with a pop, snarling at Sirius. "Master calls?"

Sirius held the locket by its chain, dangling it in front of the elf. "Did you see anything like this when we cleaned the house?"

"Yes," the elf said, refusing to elaborate without being ordered.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Well bring it here." Sirius said, only to have the elf start grumbling. "Now!"

In only a moment, it returned, holding an exact replica of the locket Harry and Dumbledore had found in the cave by the sea.

Harry took the locket from the elf, and knew immediately that they had found the horcrux. Like the others, this necklace exuded darkness.

Harry found a clasp and tried to pry it open, but to no avail.

"What does Voldemort value above all else?" Dumbledore asked, handing Harry a familiar Basilisk fang.

"Power," he said. "And his ancestry."

"How, then, would he have sealed the locket of Slytherin?"

"Parseltongue," he said.

Dumbledore only nodded.

Harry held the locket close to his face and hissed, "_Open._"

The feeling of darkness surrounding the horcrux seemed to increase as it creaked open.

The image of a much younger and more handsome Dark Lord appeared. The resemblance between Harry and Tom Riddle was even more pronounced than it had been during his second year.

"We are the same, you and I." The voice was that of Voldemort, not the good-looking young prefect.

"No, we're not."

"There is little reason to lie to a locket, Harry Potter. You value power as much as I do, and you are already strong. But with me, you can be great."

Harry looked across the room, his eyes meeting Daphne's.

"No thanks," he said, plunging the Basilisk fang into the locket, injecting it with the snake's venom, to the sound of a piercing scream. "Three down."

* * *

With the dangers of the outside world rapidly encroaching upon the castle walls, the community that had been established within Hogwarts was vibrant. Through the day, the castle had the same vivacious atmosphere that had once been found in Diagon Alley.

But at night, the ancient structure was just as dreary as ever. For all Harry knew, when he arrived at Hogwarts from Grimmauld Place that night, it could have been abandoned.

He was there at the Headmaster's request, and had a suspicion that Dumbledore had found another horcrux.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted him at the castle doors. "Come in! There is much to do."

Harry nodded once and followed Dumbledore inside.

They reached the Great Hall before Harry spoke. "Have you found another one?"

"Very perceptive," said Dumbledore, "But not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I know its location, but only generally."

"Where is it?"

"Here, my boy," Dumbledore smiled genially.

"In the castle?" Harrys eyes widened as he asked the question.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Do you have any idea where he hid it?"

"Not currently. That," said Dumbledore, "Is where you come in."

"I don't follow."

"You are more… attuned to Voldemort's magic than me," he said. "I believe you will be able to find this horcrux, where I was not."

"Like in the cave," Harry said.

"Precisely."

Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. Though overpowered by the magic of all the castle's inhabitants, Voldemort's magic could still be felt.

"It's definitely here," Harry said, "But we're not very close."

He took off toward the Grand Staircase, with Dumbledore following close behind him, the Headmaster smiling serenely as they moved.

Harry followed the tendril of Voldemort's magic up the stairs and to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom before coming to a stop.

"His presence is strongest here, probably because of the Chamber," Harry said, "But I don't think the horcrux is in there."

Harry reached out again, and found another source, much farther up.

He darted off again to the Grand Staircase, with Dumbledore following in his wake, and continued to the seventh floor.

"We're close," he said, more to himself than to Dumbledore.

He kept walking, increasing his pace, until he reached a blank section of wall, opposite a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He stopped and ran his hands over the wall. It was positively _alive _with magic, but not Voldemort's. He extended his perception beyond the wall, and felt the darkness that could only have been emitted by a piece of Voldemort's soul.

"It's in here."

Harry withdrew his wand and began waving it at the wall.

"This is… unusual," his eyes narrowed as he considered the spells he had detected.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his wand moving as he did.

"Extraordinary," he said. "Harry, I believe you have discovered the fabled Room of Requirement."

"Pardon?" Harry frowned.

"A room designed by the founders to be whatever one needs it to be. Tom Riddle, for instance, needed a place to hide one of his horcruxes."

"That's terrific," said Harry, "But how do we get in?"

"What do we need, Harry?"

"To find Voldemort's horcrux," he said.

"To find where Voldemort _hid _his horcrux," Dumbledore corrected. "Start thinking about that."

"All right," he said, closing his eyes and pacing in front of the empty section of wall.

_We need to find the hiding place. We need to find where Voldemort hid his horcrux. We need to get inside his hiding place._

As Harry opened his eyes, a polished wooden door appeared in front of him.

He threw is open, and quickly found Voldemort's trail. His strides lengthened as he neared the accursed object.

"He was more arrogant with this one," Harry said, coming to a stop by a large cupboard that looked as if it had been burned by acid and the bust of an old wizard. "He didn't even bother with any traps."

Harry looked down, and at his feet was a tarnished tiara.

"Ravenclaw's Diadem," Dumbledore exhaled. He withdrew the Basilisk fang from his robes, and approached it.

"You may want to reconsider that, you doddering old fool," the Diadem hissed. "You know as well as I that you are in dire need of extra cleverness."

Dumbledore hesitated, swallowing heavily.

"The boy looks up to you, you know? Even though you don't deserve it," it paused, as if enjoying Dumbledore's obvious discomfort. "Even though you hide the truth from him- the truth that has defined his life, and that he, more than anyone else, deserves to know."

Dumbledore's blue eyes lit with a dangerous fire that Harry had seen only once before, when the Headmaster had rescued him from the Chamber in his second year. Dumbledore plunged the fang into the tiara.

Smoke billowed out of it, but the horcrux seemed to laugh and hissed, "You can't save him." When the smoke cleared, the Diadem was silent. The horcrux had been destroyed.

"Accompany me to my office," Dumbledore said. The fire in his eyes had been replaced by a weary, defeated look. "There is something we must discuss."

A few moments later, Harry sat across from Dumbledore at his desk.

"There is something I must tell you, Harry," Dumbledore said, his expression grave. "Something which can wait no longer."

"What is it, sir?"

"I have always tried to be forthcoming with you," he said. "But there is something I have been unable to bring myself to discuss."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, knowing that whatever Dumbledore had to say was going to be bad news.

"There is a seventh horcrux," he said.

Harry nearly sighed with relief. It was bad news, there could be no doubt about that, but not as bad as he had expected. After all, Dumbledore had already told him that he believed Voldemort had created another horcrux.

"There are three more, then," Harry said, "Hufflepuff's cup, Nagini, and something else. Do you know what the last one could be?"

"Yes, I'm certain I do," the Headmaster's expression remained pained.

"Well, what is it? Do you know where it is?"

Dumbledore swallowed, and locked eyes with Harry. He was alarmed to see tears in the old man's eyes. "The seventh horcrux is you."

Harry's eyes widened, but he remained silent, processing what he had just heard.

"He planned to make his final horcrux after killing you," Dumbledore said. "I had hoped that he failed to make the horcrux when he failed to kill you."

"That… that isn't possible. I can't be a horcrux," Harry's voice was soft as he tried to retain his composure.

"I wish I could agree with you. I really do…" Dumbledore's voice trailed off.

"But… I… This can't be-"

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "It's the reason you are so connected to his magic, why you can sense his other horcruxes. Such a connection is… unnatural."

"When?" demanded Harry, recovering his voice. "When did you learn this?"

Dumbledore looked down at his feet, unable to hold Harry's gaze any longer. "I first realized that something was wrong when you felt Voldemort's emotions in the graveyard."

"More than two years ago?" Harry asked, his voice rising with each syllable. "You hid this from me for more than two bloody years!"

"Please understand," Dumbledore said, a pleading note to his voice that Harry had never heard before, "I did not want to burden you with the knowledge."

Harry swallowed, fighting back the tears, and stood up.

"You will get through this," Dumbledore said.

"How?"

"When the time is right, you will know what to do."

"Now hardly seems the time for cryptic words," Harry said. He turned and ran from the office.

* * *

Daphne found him a few hours later, sitting on a rock by the Black Lake, the full moon high overhead. She had grown concerned when he had been late getting back to Grimmauld Place, and had Flooed to Hogwarts and spoken with Dumbledore.

"We'll get through this, Harry," she said, taking his head in her arms and cradling him against her chest. "Together."

They sat there for a while- he wasn't sure how long, really- without speaking. Words weren't needed.

He couldn't help but take comfort in her confidence. Perhaps, with her help, he really could survive this.

_**

* * *

**_

The Dementors' Flight

_By Rita Skeeter_

_While many of us have slept soundly, knowing that the Dementors are guarding the worst of criminals, we will no longer be able to take comfort in that fact. Late last night, the Dementors fled the island prison of Azkaban, kissing many of the incarcerated on their way inland._

_The reason for their withdrawal from the fortress is unknown, as is their loyalty. While making their escape, the dementors kissed a number of political prisoners, including Amelia Bones and Xenophilius Lovegood. _

_Lucius Malfoy, who you will remember was recently recognized as the rightful leader of Wizarding Britain, expressed his condolences to the Bones and Lovegood families. "This is nothing more than a heinous and cowardly act by Cornelius Fudge- an attempt to remove his enemies and cement his rule."_

_Cornelius Fudge was not available for interview._

* * *

Dumbledore dove to his left, narrowly dodging the bone-breaker that had been aimed at his good arm.

He looked across the dueling platform at his opponent. He and Harry were both bloodied and bruised, having dueled for nearly a half hour in the Room of Requirement.

Perhaps he was being vindictive with his curse selection, but Harry had not been on altogether good terms with the Headmaster since his admission about the seventh horcrux.

He and the Headmaster had dueled regularly since the beginning of his training, and he had even come close to winning on a couple of occasions. Some said that Dumbledore was past his prime, but he was still the best spellcaster in the world. Harry learned early that if he was to have any chance against his Headmaster, he needed to prolong the fight, and tire the older man.

He cast a silent cutting curse at Dumbledore, powerful enough to cut to the bone, but not sever his other hand.

Dumbledore's shield absorbed most of the cruse, but more blood was drawn from his torso when it broke through his taxed defenses.

The Headmaster returned fire, a beam of purple light shooting from his wand. The light splashed against Harry's shield, which flickered but held steady.

Harry knew that Dumbledore was weakened, and poured more power into his next string of spells.

"_Reducto, Stupefy, Expelliarmus!_" Dumbledore shielded again, but it was no use. The Reductor was only partially absorbed by his shield, and sent him flying backward through the room, where he was hit in the chest by the stunner. Harry plucked his wand out of the air.

Harry waved his wand once more, awakening the Headmaster.

Dumbledore rose unsteadily to his feet, but smiling wider than Harry ever remembered seeing him.

"Bravo!" Dumbledore said. "Come back to my office. There is something I must give you."

Dumbledore left the room quickly, not even stopping to take his wand back from Harry. _The Elder Wand, _he remembered.

* * *

"Sir, your wand," Harry said, sitting across from Dumbledore at his desk. He attempted to reach the Headmaster his wand, but Dumbledore waved his hand and started speaking.

"There is a story I need to tell you, Harry." And Dumbledore launched into a story Harry had never heard before- the story of the Three Brothers.

"It's a children's tale," Harry said when Dumbledore finished.

"But like most tales, it has some basis in fact. If you'll remember, the Chamber of Secrets was thought to be nothing more than a legend."

Harry nodded, conceding the point.

"The story refers to three items," said Dumbledore. "The Elder Wand, which now rests in your right hand, the Cloak of Invisibility, which is also in your possession, and the Resurrection Stone."

Dumbledore opened one of the drawers of his desk, and withdrew the black stone that had once sat atop the Gaunts' ring.

"It is said that to possess all three will make you the Master of Death." Dumbledore reached the stone across the table and dropped it into Harry's outstretched hand. "And you now have all three- the Deathly Hallows."

"I can't take your wand, Professor."

"The Elder Wand does not belong to any one man," he said. "I believe you recall my duel with Gellert?"

"Of course."

"I claimed the wand when I defeated him, and have been lucky to hold on to it for so many years. When you defeated me today, you became the wand's new master."

"You can't go without a wand," Harry said.

"The one that chose me when I was eleven is still in working order. While not quite as powerful as the Elder Wand, I daresay I will still be more than a match for your average wizard."

"The Master of Death," Harry said, "Is that what this makes me?"

"Mastering death is impossible. Our only hope is to understand and accept it," Dumbledore wore an expression that Harry could not place. "The three Hallows will not make you immortal, but they will provide you with a great advantage against any foe. The true Master of Death is the man who does not fear his mortality."

* * *

With a twirl of his wand, a gaping hole was ripped in the side of the wall, collapsing the building's protections in the process. Voldemort and his Death Eaters, followed by the French and German aurors walked through the hole and into the Ministry atrium.

"Lethal force!" yelled John Dawlish from the other side of the room. It was here that they would make there stand.

The MPS met the Death Eaters in an organized line, firing curses as the Death Eaters advanced. Pitiful wizards though they were, Voldemort decided, the MPS was well-trained.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort intoned, pointing his wand at Dawlish.

He dove out of the way, the Killing Curse sailing over his head and hitting another serviceman in the chest.

He jumped back to his feet, firing his own Killing Curse at the Dark Lord, who silently conjured a block of marble.

"_Confringo!_" The Dark Lord's spell broke through Dawlish's shield, pulverizing his wand arm. With his own wand, Dawlish's shield might have withstood the curse, but he had lost it during his last battle with the Death Eaters. He fell to his knees, holding what was left of his right arm.

"_Discerpo!_" Voldemort cast, pointing his wand at the man's waist. Dawlish grunted as the severing curse hit, and then was silent. From the torso upward, his body fell forward, divided cleanly at the waist.

Like a snake without its head, Voldemort knew, the MPS would collapse.

He looked to his left and right, observing the results of the battle that had gone on around him, and was displeased. Though his forces were clearly winning, they had suffered heavy losses.

He walked forward, killing two servicemen who were foolish enough to stand in his way, and made it to the lift. It was time to end this.

* * *

Fudge sat in his office, knowing that the fate of _his_ nation would be decided today. John had trained the MPS well, and if not for the damnable ICW, he believed they could have defeated the Death Eaters.

He heard the scream of Dolores Umbridge, his second-in-command, and then she was silent.

"I believe you are in my office," Voldemort's voice came from right outside the door. Dawlish told him that Voldemort had returned, but he had refused to believe it. No longer could he ignore the truth.

He knew that fleeing was out of the question. It was not possible to apparate or portkey from his office. He had considered leaving through the public entrance when the fighting started, but Dawlish had warned him that a mob of his subjects waited outside the building's exits, killing any Ministry employee who stepped outside.

Voldemort knocked three times on the door. "I hope you don't mind if I come in, Cornelius."

All was lost. Fudge exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding and swallowed heavily. He pulled his wand from his robes. Gripping it tightly, his fingers white as the blood drained from them, Cornelius Fudge pointed the wand at his temple.


	21. Chapter 20

Though classes had not yet started, Hogwarts was as crowded as Harry had ever seen it. Most of the students had taken Dumbledore's offer to stay over the holiday, and many families had decided to join them. And now, the Order of the Phoenix was using Hogwarts as its base of operations in order to be better prepared for the inevitable- Voldemort's attack.

Harry, along with Daphne and Sirius, had returned to Hogwarts early to help with the defense. The building was largely the same, and the atmosphere was vibrant through the day, but everyone seemed to be on edge. It was no longer possible to ignore the war, or pretend that things would go back to normal on their own. The storm was brewing.

* * *

Voldemort sauntered down a lonely Southampton street, breathing in the salty air. He had taken comfort in being near the sea ever since that day in the cave, all those years ago. He turned down a moonlit brick walkway that led to a garish cottage. Approaching the door, he felt the telltale buzz of a Muggle repelling ward.

He rapped on the door three times. He was attempting to be courteous, but would have no qualms with blowing it off its hinges if she didn't hurry.

The door swung open, with a woman on the other side wearing a nightgown of red chiffon. Her eyes were dull and bleary; he had interrupted her sleep. He could have visited her during the day, but did not want to give the impression that her convenience was any concern of his.

"Hello, Rita." His voice pierced through the darkness, erasing the last vestiges of sleep from her face. "May I come in?"

Rita gulped, but moved away from the door. It was not a request, and she knew it.

"Be a dear and start us a pot of tea." Rita nodded once, and bolted toward what he assumed was the kitchen. Perhaps it was petty, but he took a perverse pleasure in rendering the gossipmonger speechless.

Voldemort found an overstuffed chair in a room adjacent to the foyer and took a seat. He took a moment to observe his surroundings while Rita prepared his tea. It seemed that she preferred quantity to quality when it came to decorations. Frilly knickknacks lined the pink walls, though he did not see any photographs.

She returned a moment later with a kettle of boiling water and two cups.

"Two sugars," he said, enjoying the panicked look on her face.

With a shaky hand, she gave him his cup.

Voldemort surreptitiously cast a detection spell on the cup. She was far too cowardly to try and poison him, but no one would ever accuse him of being anything other than paranoid.

"You're a difficult woman to find. It took Lucius days to locate this address," he said, taking a small sip of the hot beverage. "I trust you know why I'm here?"

She shook her head.

"You're a clever girl. What possible reason could I have for paying you a visit?"

"The…" her voice shook, "The paper."

"Very good," Voldemort cooed

"What… What do you want from me?"

"At last she's found her voice. Was that so hard?" he smiled wickedly and she shook her head, refusing to meet his crimson gaze. "Please, have a seat."

Rita sat on the edge of the only other chair in the room, a chair which was far too close to the Dark Lord for her liking.

"Relax," Voldemort said, placing a long, thin finger under her chin and lifting her head. "You have no reason to fear me currently. No, you are far too valuable alive. So long as you do as you're told."

"You want me to write something?" her lip quivered as she spoke.

"You've gotten there at last." He sat his unfinished cup of tea down on a corner table, and focused his full attention on the trembling woman sitting across from him. "Let me tell you what's going to happen.

"We're going to have a nice long talk about the future of journalism in my country, and I'm going to help you write an article."

When Voldemort stood to leave her house over an hour later, Rita Skeeter finally met his eye.

"They won't believe this," she said. "My lord."

Voldemort smiled, shaking his head. "You overestimate your readers, but you are correct. They won't believe this, not immediately. But with time, they can be made to believe as I wish."

Voldemort opened the door and stepped across the threshold. "Be a good girl, Rita. If I should be forced to call on you again, you will not like the results."

With that, he apparated away, ripping through her meager wards as he went.

* * *

The next morning, Albus Dumbledore sat at the head table when a tawny owl carrying his copy of the _Daily Prophet _arrived. What he saw on the first page was startling, to say the least.

_**The Root of All Evil**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Our new Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy, has not given an interview in the weeks since Cornelius Fudge's suicide. That changed yesterday afternoon, when the Minister paid me a visit at my home in Cambridge. Over a spot of tea, Minister Malfoy shared his plans and concerns for our nation moving forward._

"_We've made it through a dark period in our nation's history," he said, "And I believe we're stronger for it. The future is bright, and it is ours to mold." The look on his face is one of conviction._

_Alas, all is not well. While the Minister is optimistic about our outlook, he knows that there is work to be done. "We cannot truly move past this ugly point until the last remnants of the old guard are removed from power."_

_To whom was Minister Malfoy referring? "The most notable example is Albus Dumbledore. A feud between the Hogwarts Headmaster and Cornelius Fudge is, in large part, what sparked the recent troubles. But when asked to come to the Ministry for questioning, Dumbledore refused." Worse still, "Dumbledore has locked the doors at Hogwarts to Ministry personnel, essentially kidnapping the children of wizarding Britain."_

_When asked what would be done about the situation at the world's most prestigious magical academy, the Minister responded, "All appropriate measures will be taken to secure the castle. It is my goal to capture Dumbledore for questioning. If the investigation is to Ministry satisfaction, his position will be restored."_

_He went on to warn that the Ministry intends to take decisive action against Dumbledore if he continues to ignore his summons. "We understand that many of our citizens had taken up residence in the castle to avoid the war waged by Fudge. We advise that they return to their homes, but accept that immediate action is not feasible in all cases."_

_Harsh penalties will be imposed upon anyone who attempts to aid Albus Dumbledore in his attempts to undermine national security. According to the Minister, "They will be punished to the fullest extent of the law."_

_We at the _Daily Prophet _would like to thank Lucius Malfoy for his efforts to restore our country to its former glory, and wish him luck in his future endeavors. _

The exodus began during breakfast that same morning. As copies of the _Prophet _circulated through the Great Hall, all conversation seemed to stop. The reactions varied from distrustful looks at the Headmaster to parents taking their children and leaving the castle. Dumbledore ran his hand through his beard, hoping that the people would continue to trust him a bit longer.

* * *

Harry lay awake in his four-poster bed that night, considering how quickly the atmosphere in the castle had changed. His eyes shot open as the room around him shook, an explosion rocking the grounds.

"Daphne," Harry breathed, grabbing his wand and sprinting out of the dormitory. The battle for Hogwarts had begun.

* * *

Dumbledore and Snape stood together in the Great Hall, waiting anxiously for the fighting to start.

"Severus, it is imperative that Voldemort continues to believe in your loyalty to his cause."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"You must do exactly as he commands you," Dumbledore said, "Regardless of how… distasteful you may find it. Do you understand?"

Snape nodded.

"You can give him no reason to suspect you of treachery. If he tells you to kill me, or any other member of the Order, you must do as he says."

Snape swallowed heavily, but nodded again.

"The defenders of this castle will believe you have betrayed us, and act accordingly. Your survival is of the utmost importance." The Headmaster looked regretful as he spoke.

Snape's eyes closed as he fought back the emotions which tried desperately to play across his face. His mouth moved to acknowledge Dumbledore's words, but no sound seemed to escape his lips.

"There is one… final request I must make of you," Dumbledore said. "In order for Voldemort to be well and truly defeated, two things must be accomplished. Find the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and ensure that it comes into Harry's possession, and destroy Voldemort's snake, Nagini."

"Yes, Albus," the words were soft and strained.

"Go now," Dumbledore said, looking past Snape at the castle doors. "Join Tom before he begins to suspect anything is amiss."

"Albus… I… Thank you," Snape said, "For everything."

With that, Snape turned and began his walk out of the Hall. But to any who knew him, his pace was markedly subdued.

* * *

Voldemort smiled widely, magic pouring off his body, as the last ward surrounding the ancient castle collapsed.

"My friends!" his voice boomed through the night, "Tonight, we remove the last obstacle from our path! Tonight, we eradicate the last of our opposition! Tonight, we shape our destiny!"

The Death Eaters and French aurors roared their approval. The thrice-damned Germans had gone home, refusing to attack a school full of children. Voldemort intended to make their punishment swift when he conquered their homeland.

But for now, he was focused on tonight. He would lead his men through the front doors to the castle, and the dementors would seal all the exits, kissing anyone who tried to escape. He wished he could use the foul beasts as part of the assault force, but knew that their effects would be just as harmful to his own army as they would for the castle's defenders.

He was ready to claim the only place he had ever considered home. "Attack!"

* * *

Harry took the steps four at a time as he ran toward the dungeons.

"Daphne!" he yelled as his feet reached the bottom of the steps.

"Harry?" She was running too, her wand already drawn, and came to a stop standing beside him.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand, "We need to get to the Great Hall."

Harry grunted as another explosion shook the ground below their feet, and caught Daphne in his arms before she fell.

Recovering her balance, she looked him in the eye. "All right. Let's go."

* * *

Sirius and Remus pointed their wands at the thick, grey smoke, where only seconds earlier the great oak doors had been blasted off their hinges. The Order of the Phoenix and former Ministry aurors who had fled when Fudge seized power had taken up position at the front of the hall.

The first thing to be seen through the smoke was a pair of crimson orbs. Sirius stared at them for a long moment, unsure what was happening, but Dumbledore stepped forward immediately.

"Hello, Tom."

"None will be alive to call me by that name tomorrow morning," Voldemort's eyes met Dumbledore's, as he walked toward the Headmaster. Dumbledore stepped backward, leading him to the back of the Great Hall. Voldemort was content to follow him without casting any spells, both men knowing that they would need more room for their fight.

Once Voldemort had cleared the threshold, jets of green light began shooting out of the smoke. Sirius and Remus twisted out of the way, but the men to their left and right were not as lucky. Both fell to the ground, the life gone from their bodies.

Remus and Sirius looked at each other, nodding, and aimed at the smoke.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" they yelled. Their curses sailed over the door, but neither knew whether they hit anyone. Their action roused the other members of the Order from their stupor, and the threshold was illuminated with a rainbow of curses.

At that moment, two simultaneous detonations rocked the grounds, as holes were blasted through the thick stone on either side of where the oak doors had once stood. Bellatrix Lestrange sprinted through one hole and Antonin Dolohov through the other, both followed by full compliments of troops and casting as they moved. Sirius and Remus ran to Dolohov's side, having spotted a familiar rat.

* * *

"You never have been a match for me, Tom," Dumbledore called, casting a series of explosive hexes at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort growled, the tip of his wand glowing green as he shielded his body from the shrapnel.

"You cannot kill me, Dumbledore," he said, silently casting a killing curse at the Headmaster. "I have no such limitation."

With a lazy flick of his wand, the curse was intercepted by a piece of stone from the castle floor.

"Other than your lack of ability," Dumbledore corrected. He waved his wand at the hour glasses still displaying the previous year's house points. The pieces of glass disappeared, and hundred of beads, glowing with a magical heat, sped at the Dark Lord's back.

Voldemort turned, his expression murderous, and raised an immense, metallic shield. The beads peppered it, falling to the ground as they collided with the steel.

Dumbledore's silent cutting curse cleaved into the Dark Lord's back, leaving a deep gash from his shoulder to his hip. The Dark Lord hissed in pain, his shield disappearing as he lost his concentration. The last few beads collided with his chest, becoming engrained in his flesh and cauterizing the wounds.

With another flick of his wand, the remaining beads were transfigured into a large and angry lion, which Voldemort decapitated with an enraged curse.

He turned, facing Dumbledore again. "I will destroy you!"

The Headmaster merely smiled, satisfied that he had drawn first blood.

* * *

The smell of blood, still warm as it gathered in pools on the stone floor, was overpowering as Harry and Daphne stepped into the Great Hall.

Harry took a moment to observe his surroundings, the full-scale battle in the front of the hall and the duel in the back. His Godfather's yell as he was thrown off his feet sprung him into action, running to the entrance with Daphne on his heels.

"Harry!" It was Hermione, yelling as she rushed to his side.

Harry's wand found the Death Eater who had attacked Sirius, and he cast a silent piercing curse. The streak of blue light hit the man in his chest, and he dropped to the floor, undoubtedly dead. It did not even register to Harry that he had killed for the fist time, as he continued casting, driving the others away from his fallen Godfather.

"Sirius?" his voice was loud, but did not carry far through the fighting.

"'Bout time you showed up, kiddo," Sirius answered with a cough. Harry took his hand and helped him to his feet. "That bastard Pettigrew's hiding behind Dolohov."

"Then we'll just have to go through Antonin to get to him, won't we?" Harry responded.

"_Discerpo!_" Harry aimed at Dolohov, who led his troops from the front.

Dolohov raised a shield as the curse approached him. Confident that his shield would withstand the attack, he took aim at Harry, preparing to curse him for his insolence.

He made surprisingly little noise when struck by the severing curse. His eyes widened as he fell, his right leg removed at the hip, and his face began to whiten at the massive loss of blood. His hand reached into his robes, withdrawing a length of rope, which glowed for a second before Dolohov disappeared.

One of Voldemort's lieutenants had portkeyed away from the battle.

Pettigrew attempted to hobble away, but moved slowly as Voldemort had never properly repaired his legs after his failure during Harry's third year.

Sirius's curse hit him in the back of his already-injured legs, shredding his hamstrings. He collapsed, moaning piteously, but did not disappear. It seemed that Voldemort had not given the rat a portkey.

"Do the honors, Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded once and took careful aim at the rat's torso. "_Extractum!_"

Pettigrew's life was, for all intents and purposes, over the moment the sickly yellow Entrail-Expelling Curse struck him in the back. Harry watched the man writhe as his innards seeped from his body, but only for a moment, before turning his attention back to the battle, which seemed to be going well. Without Dolohov, this regiment of Voldemort's forces was being defeated, and Bellatrix's group was being fought to a standstill.

Then, killing curses began flying through the forgotten doorway as a contingent of French aurors poured through, reinforcing the Death Eaters.

Harry dove to the floor, narrowly avoiding death as a curse sailed over his prone form.

With a wave of his wand, a block of thick marble appeared in front of him and he turned to see if the most recent attack had claimed any victims.

The look on his Godfather's face was one of shock as he fell headlong to the cold, stone floor, the life extinguished from his eyes.

* * *

The Dark Lord screamed in agony, a rope of flame searing his flesh and holding his arms to his sides.

Dumbledore's hair was disheveled, his pointy hat having fallen off his head earlier in the fight, and he breathed heavily, but looked no worse for wear aside from a thin cut down his cheek.

With his wand arm held to his side, the Dark Lord aimed at Dumbledore as best he could.

A sphere of dark obsidian raced toward him, and the Headmaster had only enough warning to redirection it. The curse crashed into the wall behind the head table, pulverizing the entire area.

Dumbledore looked toward the front of the hall, and saw that French aurors continued to emerge from the doorway. The Order was being pushed further and further back. He knew that he had to end this, and quickly.

He pointed his wand upward. With a resounding bang a section of the ceiling, still displaying the cloudless night sky, collapsed, crashing onto Voldemort. With the Dark Lord wrapped in a fire whip and crushed by a ton of rubble, Dumbledore ran toward the front of the hall.

* * *

Time seemed to slow for Harry as he looked down at his Godfather's lifeless body. The man who had taken him into his home and cared for him, given him the love he had craved for most of his life, lay in a heap on the uncaring stone.

He was vaguely aware that Daphne and Hermione were doing their best to shield him from attack, but could not seem to dislodge his mind from the fact that Sirius had been taken from him.

"_Reducto!_" Someone yelled, and Hermione's shield finally gave way.

Harry screamed, in both rage and pain as his left arm was shattered by the auror's curse.

He finally looked up from his Godfather's corpse, his expression one of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"_Crucio!_" Harry yelled, and the French auror who had cursed him was flung from his feet, screaming as he landed on his back. The Death Eaters and aurors who stood near the man fell to their knees, as if by the force of Harry's will as he poured magic into the curse.

_This may have been the one who killed Sirius!_ Harry thought, as he focused all of his magical might on making the man suffer.

He continued to writhe on the ground, before finally going rigid.

He wasn't sure how long he had held the curse on the man, before his mind snapped back into reality as someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Harry," Daphne said, "We have to go. Dumbledore just ordered a retreat to the Grand Staircase."

Harry looked away from the catatonic auror, and realized that they had become vastly outnumbered. The arrival of the aurors had turned the tide of the battle.

He pointed his wand at the auror again. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

It was the first time he had cast that curse, and the green light seemed unnaturally bright as it erupted from his own wand, striking the auror in the chest.

He allowed Daphne to take him by the hand and lead him out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was the last man to leave, taking a final look at the carnage. His school was littered with the bodies of friend and foe alike.

With a flourish of his wand, the doors to the Grand Staircase closed. With another wave, they glowed blue. The wards would not hold Voldemort once he recovered, but they would buy them some time.

"Teachers," his voice boomed, "Begin distributing the portkeys."

The staff responded at once, handing pieces of rope to groups of students and instructing them to hang on.

Dumbledore's eyes scanned the crowd, and he walked forward slowly, almost reluctantly.

"Here," he said, handing a length of rope to Harry. "This will take you to Belgium, a country outside Voldemort's sphere of influence."

"Aren't you coming too?" Harry asked, hot tears welling up in his eyes.

"This is where our destinies diverge, Harry. I have called this castle home for the greater part of a century," Dumbledore said, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders. "I cannot abandon Hogwarts, least of all while there are others waiting to be evacuated."

Tears flowed freely down Harry's cheeks as he returned the Headmaster's embrace. "I'll stay, too. We'll drive them off together."

"Tom is not yet mortal," Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly. "I am proud of you… so very proud."

His voice trailed off and his eyes misted.

They were both quiet while Dumbledore composed himself. "It is time for me to take my leave. Everyone who is able will follow you while I delay Tom and his followers."

Harry nodded, but did not release him. "I can't lose you too, sir."

"I will never leave you," Dumbledore said, "Not really.

"I have one last request, Harry," he said. "When this is over, after you have defeated Voldemort- you will defeat him, and with your soul intact, it is a question if when, not if- live your life to the very fullest. Do not blame yourself for anything that has happened in this war."

"I will," Harry said, his voice shaking.

"Promise me," Dumbledore said.

"I promise."

The embrace lasted a moment longer, Dumbledore reluctant to leave, and Harry reluctant to let him.

"Take care, Harry," Dumbledore broke away from him, his eyes looking him over a final time. "I'll see you again, someday."

It was goodbye. They both knew it, though neither would say it.

"Everyone," Dumbledore's voice was loud and commanding now. "Begin making your way up the stairs. Your portkeys will activate momentarily."

As the students scrambled to obey the Headmaster's final order, the door was demolished with a crash that echoed through the room.

Moody walked up beside Dumbledore.

"Alastor, my friend, you should leave."

"Nay Albus," Moody said. "I've stood by you for too long to be leaving now."

"I'm staying too, Albus," Professor McGonagall walked back down the stairs, having distributed the last of the portkeys.

Dumbledore shook his head, "Your duty is to the students, Minerva."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but said nothing. A few silent tears leaked from her eyes as she ascended the stairs.

Voldemort was battered, but looked apoplectic as he stepped into the room. "This ends now, Dumbledore."

"Oh, I quite agree, Tom," Dumbledore said, his wand already in motion.

As another fire whip approached him, Voldemort transfigured the flames into an enormous snake. He was weakened, tremendously so, actually, but rage fueled his power.

Dumbledore banished the reptile with ease, before battering Voldemort's shield with Reductors.

Voldemort was pushed backward, his remaining power fading quickly.

Moody took advantage of the opening, casting a Reductor of his own. The spell sailed past the Dark Lord's guard, pulverizing his left knee.

Voldemort bit his tongue to prevent himself from screaming, and cast a complicated healing spell at his knee. It would be serviceable for a few hours, but may never return to normal.

Seeing their Lord's distress, Bellatrix and Lucius ran across the threshold, throwing curses as they advanced.

Lucius paired off against Moody, with Bellatrix assisting her Master against Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's reaction was swift. With a silent summoning charm, the wreckage from the door crashed into Voldemort and Bellatrix from behind. It did no serious damage, but posed an impressive distraction. Dumbledore cast a cutting curse, one of Severus' invention, at the pair of them. It slashed across both of their chests, adding another wound to the Dark Lord's already impressive collection.

"Severus!" Voldemort shouted. "Your assistance is required."

Snape walked into the room, looking to Dumbledore before he acted. The Headmaster nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Snape joined Lucius, who was being forced onto the defensive by Moody.

If Voldemort's magic was fueled by anger, Dumbledore's was driven by sheer desperation. As he looked backward, he saw that not all of the portkeys had activated, including the most important one of all. This did not have to go on much longer, he knew, and then he could rest.

As Voldemort attempted to catch his breath, Dumbledore focused his attack on Bellatrix. He fought with an intensity that no one had ever seen before. He fought for his life, but that was incidental. More importantly, he fought for his school and his students.

Bella's shield was destroyed by Dumbledore's onslaught, and she could do nothing but widen her eyes in terror and recognition as a fire whip closed around her throat. Her head hit the ground before her body began to fall.

Voldemort roared in rage and disbelief as his most trusted and skilled follower fell in a pool of her own blood.

Dumbledore chanced a look to his right just as Snape's curse broke through Moody's shield. Lucius' killing curse hit his friend in the chest before Dumbledore could react. The look on Moody's face as he fell was one of betrayal.

Dumbledore conjured a wall of granite as a trio of killing curses approached him. It stopped two of the curses, but Dumbledore's face was sprayed by pieces of the stone. Fawkes intercepted the final curse, dying and being reborn all at once.

Dumbledore raised another shield as Voldemort, Lucius, and Snape continued firing curses at him. His shield fell under their combined effort, and the Dark Lord's cutting curse struck his good arm, cleaving through his periwinkle robes and flesh, stopping only at the bone.

Dumbledore collapsed to his knees, unable to continue.

The Dark Lord stepped forward, a look of triumph on his bloody face. Dumbledore's eyes met Snape's who wore a look of revulsion.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" The green light struck Dumbledore in the chest. He fell forward, his skull impacting the floor.

Voldemort looked down at the body of Albus Dumbledore, quietly at first, before he started laughing hysterically. He waved his wand, and Dumbledore's corpse was incinerated by a column of black flame.

Voldemort looked up the staircase, spotting only three more people. He met the burning emerald eyes of Harry Potter as the final portkey activated and the last of the castle's defenders evacuated.

Hogwarts had fallen.


	22. Chapter 21

Harry hardly noticed the uncomfortable jerk of the portkey as his feet landed on a cobblestone street in the magical section of Brussels. Cottages with thatched roofs lined both sides, and he'd have thought it quaint under different circumstances. As it was, however, he saw very little. His eyes were cast forward, seemingly taking in his surroundings, but Daphne and Hermione knew he was not looking at anything in particular.

"I'm going to kill them." His voice seemed distant to his friends, as if he wasn't standing directly between them.

Memories of the battle replayed themselves in his head. Objectively, he knew he'd done well in the fight, but he could only focus on two things: the vacant look in his Godfather's eyes and the sound of Dumbledore's skull cracking against the castle floor before Voldemort incinerated his corpse.

He recalled the three men who stood across from the Headmaster when he fell. Voldemort, Malfoy, and Severus Snape.

"Dumbledore trusted him." He sounded oddly detached, as if he had not yet come to terms with the betrayal. "I trusted him."

He was vaguely aware that Minerva McGonagall stood in front of him, tears streaming down the normally-stoic woman's cheeks, waving him forward.

Daphne wrapped a slender arm around his waist, and urged him toward the older woman. Harry walked with her, though his movements were mechanical, as if he was just going through the motions.

"Mister Potter." McGonagall's voice was soft and strained. Hogwarts' fall had obviously been hard for the old woman, whose life had revolved around the castle, to accept.

"Professor." He looked at her, but could not meet her eyes.

Daphne held him tighter, realizing that despite how many emotions Harry was experiencing, he felt no small amount of shame, shame that he had been unable to defend his home, to save his mentor and Godfather.

"Most of the students have arrived here safely," McGonagall said, wiping a tear from her eye. "It is only a single group of Slytherins that cannot be accounted for."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked.

The Professor nodded before continuing. "The Belgian Ministry has granted us refugee status, but they wish to maintain official neutrality."

"So we can stay here, but they won't help us fight Voldemort."

"That is correct."

"He'll come here, eventually," Harry said, his inflection oddly dispassionate. "He won't let them be neutral."

"You are right, of course, but they fear the collective strength of Britain and France."

"Voldemort will only get more powerful if no one opposes him."

"Again, Mister Potter, you are correct, but most of these people will refuse to believe that until they see it for themselves." McGonagall sighed, shaking her head. "And the Order is not in any shape to fight a war."

"How many did we lose?"

"More than half," she said. "Kingsley, Remus, and I will lead the survivors as best we can, with your input."

"Kingsley and Remus survived, then?"

"Yes, Harry, we did." Harry turned and saw Remus approaching him. The last Marauder had not cried, but Harry thought the man looked numb.

Harry stepped away from McGonagall and the men embraced.

"He was so proud of you, Harry," Remus said. "He'd have wanted you to know that."

"Thanks Remus," Harry said, trying to keep his tears from falling.

"Your father would be extraordinarily proud of you- Lily, too. I know I am."

"You were a good friend to him, Remus. To them both."

Harry finally met Remus' eyes, and managed a small smile. They broke the embrace a second later, and Remus walked away without saying anything else. No further words were needed, and would have felt inappropriate if spoken.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall called for him. "Lodgings have been prepared for us. If you would follow Auror Tonks."

Harry nodded and fell in line behind the young auror, Daphne and Hermione following in his wake. Tonks led the trio off the cobblestone street and through a narrow alleyway, to a plain-looking wooden building. They followed her down a hallway to a set of three rooms.

"Harry, I…" Tonks looked lost for words. They'd never been especially close, but she felt an overwhelming urge to say something. "I'm sorry."

She left without getting a response.

Harry walked across the threshold into a nondescript room, rather fitting for a refugee who had lost nearly everything over the course of an hour. In the hallway, Daphne and Hermione exchanged a look, before Hermione walked into her own room, leaving Daphne to follow Harry into his.

"I'm here for you, Harry," she said. "Always."

He turned to look at her, his face brightening for just a moment. Harry reached a hand into his robes, withdrawing the Deathly Hallows. Aside from the Hallows and his holly wand, he had nothing but the clothes on his back. He'd never been rich, but had grown accustomed to having a modest fortune. It was rather disconcerting to have nothing. He placed the Hallows in the drawer of a bedside table and cast a series of protective charms on it with his original wand, which he then put under his pillow.

Harry collapsed onto the bed, and Daphne fell beside him. The two faced each other, and Daphne gently placed her hands on his cheeks.

"I mean it, Harry, I'll always be here for you. I-" Her voice became incredibly soft. "I love you."

Harry responded immediately, with words he wondered if he'd ever fully understood before meeting Daphne. "I love you too."

It was what he'd wanted his entire life, to be loved, and perhaps things would work out for the best. He would beat Voldemort. He'd avenge his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, and everyone else who had died because of his war. And then, after everything else was over, he and Daphne would make a life together. With a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward, Harry closed his eyes. It had been a long day.

* * *

Severus Snape fell to his knees, forcing himself not to gulp. He had always feared being alone with Voldemort, and had found himself forced into that position more often than ever since Voldemort's attack on Azkaban.

Though the damage to the castle had not been repaired, the elves had cleaned it thoroughly. The bodies had been removed, the Order members burned and the Death Eaters and aurors buried on the grounds, but the smell lingered. It was always the hardest reminder to erase. Snape wondered if Voldemort liked the smell, a constant representation of the battle that had confirmed his power.

"Rise, Severus." He did not sound entirely displeased. "Your performance last night was acceptable- far better than most, actually."

"I live to serve, my Lord."

"Yes," Voldemort said, "You do."

"What would my Master have me do?"

"Your assignment is… rather unusual, though nothing that should be difficult for a man of your skill." Voldemort stared at Snape intently. "Are you familiar with the Hogwarts Founders?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then you are aware, of course, of the rarity of their possessions?"

"It is my understanding that very few still exist," he said.

"Very few, indeed. But as it happens, I have come across a number of these items during my travels. Nearly all of them, in fact."

From his robes, he withdrew Helga Hufflepuff's cup, which glimmered in the rising sun's light.

"Do you recognize this?"

"Hufflepuff's cup." Snape schooled his expression, hoping Voldemort wouldn't recognize how excited he was to see the golden cup.

"It was in Bella's possession." His voice lowered and his eyes narrowed as he remembered the death of his most faithful servant. "With Antonin's failure earlier today, the honor of this object's safekeeping falls to you."

Snape nodded once. "Yes, my Lord."

"This cup is far more valuable than you could ever realize. Protect it with your life, if necessary."

Voldemort broke eye contact, and Snape heard hurried footsteps coming from behind him.

"My Lord," came a voice Snape recognized to have an unmistakably French accent. "I have good news."

* * *

Harry found his arms wrapped protectively around Daphne's small body as he awoke to the sound of a whispered incantation.

"_Stupefy!_"

His arms still holding Daphne, he turned his head in time to catch a glimpse of the pale blue robes of the French Auror Corps before the red light engulfed him.

* * *

Before he became aware of anything else, Harry noticed the hardness of the floor. He placed his hands on the stone and rose unsteadily to his feet. The room- a cell, he realized, was illuminated by a single candle floating above his head. It was cramped, with imposing stone walls and a heavy, iron door.

He spotted Daphne lying on her back near the front of the room. Her eyes opened slowly as she regained consciousness.

"Daphne," he said, "Can you hear me?"

"Harry?" Her voice was soft, confused.

"Yeah," he said, walking toward her, "It's me."

"What happened?"

"It was one of Voldemort's men," he said, his voice hardening. "He took us in our sleep."

Before Daphne could respond, the door opened with a resounding creak.

"Harry Potter." Harry recognized the voice before seeing Voldemort's face as he stepped into the cell. Harry focused on his occlumency as he felt a twinge of pain in his scar. "I had not expected to see you again so soon. Imagine my surprise when I learned you had been captured so very quickly."

Harry attempted to speak, but found himself unable. It seemed like the right time to say something witty, to show defiance in the face of his impending death, but nothing came to mind.

"Do you have any pleas to make, Harry? Perhaps a deity to beg for absolution?" Voldemort's features twisted into a hideous smile.

"No, I don't think so. Do you?" Harry asked, finally finding his voice. A humorless smile to match Voldemort's crossed his face. "Are you going to challenge me to a duel now?"

Voldemort tilted his head to the side, appearing to consider Harry's question. "No, I think not. You see, child, you have already been captured and you are in my possession. How would I benefit from engaging you in a fair fight, when the power to extinguish your life already rests so firmly in my hands?"

Voldemort stared at Harry for a moment without speaking, but Harry did not answer.

"I shall, however, make you one final offer."

"You want me to join the Death Eaters," Harry said, shaking his head. "Why?"

"We are men of a higher order, you and I, and it would be a shame to see your power wasted, your magic destroyed." Voldemort looked at Harry appraisingly, and spoke in a voice that belied his interest. "Will you save yourself by joining my ranks?"

"No, I think not," Harry said, repeating Voldemort's words from earlier.

"Somehow I thought not," Voldemort drawled. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but much more malicious. "Then I shall end your life, destroy everything you hold dear."

"Right now?" Harry tried to sound casual, almost flippant, but he could not hide the quiver of his lip and the slight shaking of his voice.

"Yes," Voldemort said, "Right now."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he echoed. "What did you expect, Harry? Did you believe I would divulge my future plans to you, before leaving you with ample opportunity to escape? Perhaps you thought I would torture you for days, maybe even weeks?"

Voldemort's smile was entirely malevolent.

"The truth is," he continued, gently caressing his yew wand, "I would like that very much. There are few things I would like more, in fact, than torturing you until the end of time. But keeping you alive would be an unnecessary risk- a risk which I am not willing to take. So your pain will be brief. _Crucio!_"

In the instant that Voldemort's curse struck him, Harry lost the ability to form coherent thoughts and became aware of only the pain, as a white-hot fire seemed to rush through his veins. His body collapsed to the ground. He didn't want to give Voldemort the satisfaction, but couldn't stop himself. As his body began to convulse, a piercing scream escaped his throat.

He was vaguely aware that his head smashed against the stone floor as he writhed on the ground, but the injury did not register. The pain from a simple concussion did not even compare to the pain of Voldemort's Cruciatus.

As soon as the curse had been cast, it was over. Harry noticed a faint taste of copper in his mouth as he sat up.

He looked up just in time to see Voldemort bodily throw Daphne to the ground. He looked down at her, forcing a snarl off his face and regaining his composure, before turning to Harry.

"It was exceptionally foolish of her to try and protect you," Voldemort said, pointing his wand at Daphne.

"Don't you dare hurt her," Harry said, his jaw tightening.

"You really must work on your banter, Harry. That simply will not do." Voldemort smiled again, his crimson eyes boring into Harry. "A very reliable source told me that hurting Miss Greengrass would be the most effective way to hurt you. I wonder, then, how will you react to her death? Only one way to find out, I suppose. _Avada Kedavra!_"

A streak of green light erupted from Voldemort's wand, moving seemingly in slow motion, casting an eerie glow through the room. As the curse moved nearer and nearer to Daphne, Harry reacted on instinct, doing the first thing that came to mind and the only thing that made any sense. He leapt.

_

* * *

_

A/N:

_I've tried to get through this thing without posting any author's notes, and I've managed to make it this far. But I thought you deserved an apology for the delay on this chapter. In my wisdom, I decided to take 22 hours this past semester, and things became a bit hectic. So I didn't have much (read: any) time to write. But better late than never, right? I realize this one's a bit shorter than usual, but there shouldn't be any more substantial delays. I had originally intended to include the next scene in this chapter, but the cliffhanger felt appropriate. Read, and let me know what you think._

_Also, if you'd be so kind as to take a look at my profile and give a oneshot I posted a while back, Redemption, a read and review, I'd appreciate it. _

_Cheers,_

_Silentclock_


	23. Chapter 22

Daphne could only watch in abject horror as the green light struck Harry in the chest, and he fell.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to recognize his surroundings. If he hadn't known better, he would have said it looked like Hogwarts' Great Hall. He glanced around, noticing the House Tables and hourglasses indicating the standings for the House Cup, and his jaw dropped. An almost ethereal glow seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, whole and undamaged. He could see no signs of the battle that had ravaged the castle less than 24 hours ago.

Harry rose shakily to his feet, and turned to face the head table. Dumbledore sat at his elevated chair, staring down at Harry, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Professor." Harry paused, struggling to find the right words, or any words, really. "But you're-"

"Dead?" Dumbledore interrupted, smiling. "Indeed."

Harry remained silent for a moment, still unsure what to say. "It's my fault," he finally said, his voice soft. "I should have helped you."

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet him. The hand, Harry noticed, was the one his Headmaster had lost more than a year ago. "Pity not the dead, Harry. Save your sympathy for the living."

"So I'm not dead, then?" Harry asked.

"No, I should think not."

"But I stepped in front of Voldemort's Killing Curse."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed.

"Then," Harry began, but paused again, searching for the right words, "How am I still alive?"

Dumbledore's smile grew. "Can you think of nothing else Tom's curse might have killed?"

Harry considered that for a moment, before returning the Headmaster's smile. He _could _think of something else that the curse might have killed. Or destroyed, at any rate. "The horcrux."

"The horcrux," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"Then there are only two left," Harry said.

"The Cup and the Snake," Dumbledore agreed.

_So something good has come from this situation, _Harry decided. _But the situation itself…_ "How did Voldemort find us?"

"That is the question, is it not?" Dumbledore's voice conveyed puzzlement, but his eyes retained their knowing twinkle.

"You already know." It wasn't a question.

"What I know is no longer relevant. It is your knowledge that is important."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "What are you exactly? Some part of my subconscious?"

"That, Harry, is neither here nor there." Dumbledore's fingers twisted through his silver beard. "If I am not mistaken, we were considering how Voldemort discovered you so quickly."

"But you already know," Harry pointed out.

"I believe you will find," Dumbledore said, "That I know nothing more or less than you yourself do."

"But I can't figure it out." Harry furrowed his brow, trying to put the puzzle together. "It just doesn't make any sense. We should have been safe there."

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore chided. "Engage that brilliant mind of yours. Consider first the protections that were in place."

"All right," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "It was a Belgian Ministry facility, and they use ward constructs similar to the English Ministry. Strong, well-crafted, and temperamental. It should have been impossible for anyone short of Voldemort himself to get through."

"Good, very good. Anything else?"

"Well, besides the wards on the building itself, the individual rooms were heavily warded. But not just by the Ministry. I definitely noticed some of Filius' work."

"It is likely that Minerva would have made additions as well," Dumbledore said.

"Then how did that auror get into my room? And why didn't I notice him before he stunned me?"

"That particular auror, skilled though he likely is, has nothing to do with the answers you seek. Can you think of no person, or group of people, as the case may be, with the power to collapse any and all wards?"

"Voldemort, obviously," Harry said, "But even if he'd overpowered them, I'd have noticed. I'd have had time to react."

"You are not thinking of the correct type of power. This is a matter of dominion, not magic."

A chill ran down Harry's spine. "The owner of the building."

"The owner of the building." Dumbledore's smile faded for the first time.

"The Belgians." Harry's face had turned white. "They betrayed us."

"It would appear so, yes."

Harry's shoulders fell. He couldn't believe he'd been betrayed again and the gravity of his mistake nearly overcame him. "I shouldn't have ever trusted them. I should have taken more precautions."

"A mistake was made, Harry, and I share the blame. I had been so ready to trust their Minister, so eager to gain an ally, any ally, that I did not consider any potential ulterior motives. Alas, we were both fooled. But we live," Dumbledore paused, chuckling, "Well you do, at any rate, and we learn. It is not our mistakes that define us, but how we respond to them. How will you respond to this one?"

"I won't trust a Belgian again, that's for damn sure."

"Ah, but trust is so very important," Dumbledore said. "Be more careful, by all means, but do not lose the ability to trust."

Harry nodded. "It just feels like the whole world's conspiring against me."

"That," Dumbledore began, "Is not too far from the truth. The balance of power is shifting, and Voldemort is becoming stronger than ever." He sighed. "It is a terribly fragile thing, this world of ours. And the burden of saving it, fortunately, has fallen on your shoulders."

"Fortunately, sir?"

"Do not mistake me, Harry. I am truly sorry that you have been forced to carry such an extraordinarily heavy weight." And he did look regretful, Harry noted. "And you do carry the weight of the world, but there is no one I would trust more with it."

"The weight of the world?" Harry chuckled. "Yeah, that feels about right."

"That is only appropriate when the world is at stake."

"It's that serious?"

"Indubitably. Voldemort is amassing an army and intends to control everything that can be controlled. It falls to you to stop him."

"So you're saying there's going to be a global war?"

"Precisely."

"And you want me to win it?"

"No."

"What, then?" Harry asked, taken aback.

Dumbledore's smile returned. "I want you to prevent it from happening."

"Prevent it from happening," Harry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "How should I go about that?"

"By destroying Voldemort, of course. No one else has the power to keep his machinations moving."

"Thank Merlin it's not anything difficult," Harry said, his voice trailing off. "I need to get out of that cell and destroy the other two horcruxes before I can deal with Tom."

"Leaving the cell will not be too difficult." Dumbledore stopped, refusing to continue without being prodded.

"Well?"

"Apparate out, of course."

"It'll be warded against that," Harry argued.

"Of course it will," Dumbledore said. "To every wand but one."

"Voldemort's wand. So I take it and apparate away? Just like that?"

"Exactly."

Harry nodded, but looked troubled. His voice soft, he asked, "Do you really think I can do it? Beat him, I mean?"

"There are very few things I believe with as much certainty. It will be difficult, but I know you will defeat Tom. And soon."

Harry sighed, but nodded. He was not yet fully convinced, but the Headmaster's words did help. "Thank you, Professor," he said. "I needed to hear that."

"It is I who should be thanking you," Dumbledore said, his eyes misting. "These past few years, mentoring you, have been among the best of my rather long life."

"Sir, I-"

Dumbledore held up a hand and continued, "In many ways, you are like a son to me. Or, a many-times-great-grandson, perhaps. And I am more proud of you than I can ever hope to express." Dumbledore took a moment to collect himself. "My only regret is that we did not have more time together. Teaching you was truly a joy."

"I," Harry struggled to speak, trying to avoid choking up. "I don't know what to say."

"There is no need for you to say anything, Harry."

And Harry didn't say anything for quite some time, choosing instead to memorize everything about the man in front of him, from his crooked nose to the way he held himself, somehow looking completely at ease while still commanding respect. When he sensed that his time was running short, he asked, "Will I see you again, like this?"

"I think not," Dumbledore said. Seeing a frown cross Harry's face, he continued, "But I will always be with you."

"So this isn't really goodbye, is it?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore said. "Oh, one last thing, my boy."

"What is it, sir?" Dumbledore, Harry noticed, looked altogether too mischievous.

"I understand that you are among friends here, Harry, but do make sure to wear _something _when you cross wands with Tom."

"But I," Harry started, looking down and noticing his nude form for the first time. "Oh."

In that moment, the glow of the Great Hall began to fade. Dumbledore, along with the unblemished castle became more and more transparent, before eventually disappearing into nothingness.

* * *

"_Come back to me, Harry." _Daphne's voice was frantic, almost pleading as it cut through the fog of his mind. _"Damn it, Potter, don't you die on me."_

Harry opened his eyes.

As the world around him came into focus, the first thing he noticed was Daphne's body pressed against his own, her head buried against his chest.

"Please don't be dead." Her voice was hardly a whisper.

"Daphne?"

Her head jerked up. With wide eyes, she met his gaze.

"Harry?"

"Were you expecting someone else?" The corner of his mouth tugged upward.

"I thought-" She paused, swallowing audibly, "I thought I'd lost you."

"I know, love. I know." He wrapped his arms around her and held her for just a moment. "Now let's get out of here, yeah?"

She nodded and rose to her feet. Following her lead, Harry noticed Voldemort was beginning to rouse.

Harry crossed the cell in three steps. He stared down at Voldemort, and with a gleam in his eyes brought the heel of his trainer down on the Dark Lord's face. He heard a satisfying crack as Voldemort's jaw dislocated.

He dropped to his knees and began to pry the yew wand from Voldemort's hand. The Dark Lord had an exceptionally strong grip.

Harry returned to his feet. He stomped on Voldemort's wrist once, twice, and again before finally hearing the bones break and seeing his fingers slacken. With a yank, Harry tore the wand from Voldemort's hand. The moment it left his fingers, Voldemort disappeared.

"Bastard must've had a portkey set to activate if he was disarmed," Harry mused.

The stick of yew in his hand felt odd- both right and wrong at the same time. It was a brother to his own wand, but it had claimed the lives of his parents and his mentor. Harry stared at it with revulsion.

He turned to face Daphne. "Take my hand."

With a soft pop, they returned to Brussels.

* * *

They reappeared in the alley in front of their lodgings, just as the sun had begun to rise. At the first sight of the building, something in Daphne's mind clicked. "We need to get the others and get out of here before they find us again."

Harry nodded. "It's worse than you think." Daphne gave him a questioning look and he continued, "We have to find McGonagall."

He took Daphne's hand and pulled her inside.

"Stop right there." The voice trembled, and Harry noticed it belonged to a wide-eyed man who fumbled for his wand. His robes were red, the Belgian Ministry standard.

Harry grinned sardonically as he pointed Voldemort's wand at the man's jugular. He did not take betrayal lightly. "_Sectumsempra!_"

With a gush of blood, his neck was sliced open. The man blinked twice before collapsing, his head remaining attached to his body by only a thin layer of flesh and sinew.

Daphne quirked an eyebrow. "Was that entirely necessary?"

"They betrayed us, Daphne."

She nodded, accepting his answer. "I'd wondered about that."

"_Expecto Patronum!_" A silver stag emerged from Harry's wand and rushed off to find McGonagall and Hermione.

Daphne's eyes widened at the sight of Harry's Patronus. She'd seen it before, years earlier. Just how much had Harry done for her over the years?

Harry looked down at the man he had killed, and waved the yew wand twice, cleaning the blood from the floor around him and disillusioning the corpse.

Moments later, both women rushed into the lobby, McGonagall still wearing her tartan robe and Hermione with her hair in a state of disrepair.

"What was so urgent, Mister Potter?" McGonagall asked.

"Remember when I told you the Belgians wouldn't be able to stay neutral?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "Well, they've picked their side. Voldemort's."

"That's preposterous," she said. "Headmaster Dumbledore trusted-"

Harry held up his hand, silencing her. "We all trusted them, professor. Right up until they delivered Daphne and me to Voldemort."

Hermione rushed to her friend and embraced him. McGonagall was silent for a moment, almost too shocked to speak.

"Impossible." She looked taken aback, reluctant to accept another betrayal so soon after Severus'. "The wards would have alerted me."

"The Belgians took all the wards down." Harry met her eye with an air of surprising authority. "Professor, I need you to trust me"

"I…" She hesitated, but only for a moment, before nodding. Dumbledore had always trusted the boy, and she would do the same. "Of course, Mister Potter."

"Good. I need you to get everyone out of here."

"Who else can we trust?"

Harry considered that briefly, remembering how Dumbledore spoke of the importance of trust. "No one. Go underground and wait for me to make contact. If the students are willing, train them to fight. After the three of us take care of a couple pieces of business, we're bringing the fight back to Voldemort and taking back our country."

McGonagall inclined her head slightly, and turned, rushing off to set Harry's plan into motion.

"Hermione, go get everything you need and meet me in front of my room in two minutes."

The trio rushed off, Hermione to her room and Harry and Daphne to theirs.

Harry ran to his bed, throwing his pillow to the side. His holly wand rested precisely where he had left it. He looked to his right and saw that Daphne had found her own wand undisturbed. He turned his attention the drawer where he had deposited the Hallows. He waved his wand over the table. Though he already knew the wards he set would be gone, his heart rate quickened when he confirmed as much. He opened the drawer.

They were still there. He exhaled as he picked them up and pocketed the cloak and stone. The Elder Wand felt strange in his hand after using Voldemort's wand. Oddly, his holly wand felt just fine. Perhaps he had become more attuned to it by using its brother.

"Doesn't look like he took anything," he remarked.

"He wouldn't have, would he? It was an extraction mission. He needed to be in and out fast."

He and Daphne left the room with all their earthly possessions. Hermione was already waiting for them in the hallway.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked.

"Can we," Hermione began, but paused, sounding strangely unconfident. "Can we go to Bulgaria? I need to get in touch with Viktor, you see." Her words trailed off.

Harry smiled knowingly. "Couldn't be any worse than anywhere else, could it? Can you apparate us there?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, and grabbed Harry by the arm. He took Daphne's hand in his, and with a pop the trio disappeared.

* * *

The sky above Viktor Krum's home was a constant shade of grey. The house itself, Harry noticed, was a rather modest two-story, deep within a thicket of trees. Not at all what he would have expected from the Quidditch star.

Krum walked outside, his wand held in front of him. He lowered it when he saw them. "Hermione?"

Harry couldn't help but notice the Bulgarian's English had improved since the last time they'd spoken.

"What is going on?" he asked.

Hermione told him everything, from their current situation to the coming war. When she finished, he took her into his arms.

"If you are going to fight, I will fight with you," he said. "You will stay here?"

Harry and Daphne exchanged a glance, and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"We'd be happy to, Viktor." He looked at the house again. "Ever hear of the Fidelius Charm?"

* * *

Voldemort stood before one of his more capable followers, rubbing his still-sore jaw carefully. The days since Potter's escape had been especially trying.

"You have served me well, Auror Leguay. For the defeat of Black and the capture of Potter, you will be rewarded above all others."

"You are too kind, my Lord."

"Perhaps," Voldemort mused, his countenance darkening. "I am in need of your services again."

"What is required of me?"

Voldemort turned away from the man to hide a scowl. The subject always seemed to cost him his control of his emotions. "Potter found a hole in the wards and managed to escape his cell shortly before I arrived to deal with him. He must be recaptured."

"It shall be done." The auror never doubted for a moment that he would capture the boy again.

"Subdue him only. It is his destiny to die by my hand." Voldemort cast an inscrutable look at the cherry wand in his hand. "You must conduct this search without my assistance. I shall be… otherwise engaged."

Voldemort's eyes never left the wand.


	24. Chapter 23

It was bitterly cold as Severus Snape trekked to the Hogwarts owlery through a biting wind, the moon's pale light barely illuminating his path. He was only moments away from sending a letter that would bring about the end of this damned war. And soon. For better or worse, the fate of every wizard in Britain would be decided in a matter of days.

His time as a spy would soon be at its end. And it couldn't come quickly enough. Through the constant struggle, the lies and subterfuge, Snape had spent far more energy on remaining alive than on living. One way or another, that was about to change. When he finally showed his true allegiance, when he finally turned his wand on the Dark Lord, the conflict would be at its end. He would be free to live, truly _live_, or he would be dead. The cards were on the table, and Snape had made his bet.

He would put his trust in Harry Potter, the son of the man he hated and the woman he loved. He would put his life in the boy's hands. But really, there had never been any question about that.

He tied his missive to an unassuming school owl, whispering, "Take this to Harry Potter."

It wouldn't be much longer now.

* * *

Well before the first hints of sunlight could be seen on the horizon, Harry and three others sat around a table in an unassuming house deep in the Bulgarian forest. The trio had spent the past few months living in Viktor Krum's home, teaching him how to survive the battle they knew was coming.

"Do you know where to start looking for this horcrux?" Krum asked.

"Not the specific location," Harry said. "But Dumbledore thought Voldemort would have kept them in places that were important to him."

"Where are we going to look?" asked Hermione.

"His old Muggle orphanage will be the easiest place to start," Harry said.

"But you don't think it's there?" asked Daphne.

"No," Harry said, "I don't. But our other options are the Ministry and Gringotts, and I'm in no hurry to search either of them."

"When will we go to this orphanage?" asked Krum.

"Soon," Harry responded. "Tomorrow, I think."

Harry's nerves had been frayed since his capture at the hands of a French Auror, and he often found himself overreacting to even the slightest hint of danger. When he heard something scratching at a window on the other side of the house, he jumped to his feet, Elder Wand at the ready.

He approached the glass pane slowly, ready to curse at the first sign of hostility. From the well-lit home, he could not see outside through the darkness. With a flick of his wand, the window was thrown open.

It was an owl.

The bird carried a single envelope. Harry twirled his wand counterclockwise, confirming there were no immediately dangerous curses on the envelope or its contents. His spell revealed that the letter inside the envelope contained a portkey, set to activate in more than 24 hours. He untied it from the bird's leg and sent the animal on its way.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione.

Harry tore the top off the envelope and withdrew a piece of parchment.

_What you seek is located at Spinner's End._

_If you wish to end this war, arrive at dawn on Monday._

_The letter will serve as a portkey._

Harry immediately recognized the neat script as that of his former Potions Master. "Well, this certainly changes things," he said as he handed the note to Daphne.

"It's a trap, Harry," she said. "It has to be."

"Yes," Harry agreed.

"You're going anyway, aren't you?" she asked, handing the parchment to Hermione.

"I have to, Daphne," he said, falling back into his seat at the table. "If he has a horcrux, I have to get it from him."

"What if he doesn't even have it?" asked Hermione.

"He'll at least know where it's hidden," Harry said.

"Even if he does know, you can't expect him to tell you."

"Not willingly," Harry agreed. "But I know a bit of Legilimency. I realize Snape's the best Occlumens in the world, but even his defenses will fail if he's in enough pain."

"Is it really worth the risk?" asked Hermione. "You'd be fighting him on his terms."

"Maybe not. But I don't know when I'll get another chance," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going there tomorrow morning, and I'm going to find the horcrux."

Daphne nodded. "Then I'll be there at your side."

* * *

Harry could see the first signs of daylight in the distance when he and his friends arrived at Spinner's End. The house in front of them had seen better days. Its paint chipping and shutters barely clinging to the walls, the place appeared to be abandoned. It made sense, as Snape spent the better part of every year at Hogwarts.

"_Homenum revelio_!" Hermione incanted. A single glow emanated from the house. "There's only one person here."

"Hermione, Viktor, wait out here and watch the door," Harry said, walking forward. "Snape may summon Voldemort as soon as he knows we're here."

Harry approached the front door cautiously, turning the knob and pushing it open slowly. He crossed the threshold, Daphne following close behind him. The inside of the house looked little better than the outside, a thick coat of dust covering everything in sight.

He saw Snape immediately. He paced the length of the sitting room, looking more disheveled than Harry had ever seen him. Surprisingly, given his normal perceptiveness, it took him a moment to notice Harry. When Snape finally turned to face him, Harry saw dark circles under the man's eyes.

"Quickly, Harry, I haven't much time." Snape sounded rushed, and perhaps a bit afraid. Harry looked at him closely. He looked harried and unkempt, but not particularly hostile. He didn't even have his wand drawn.

_It's a trick_, Harry thought. _A ruse. He doesn't know how to do anything else_.

"It was foolish of you to arrange this meeting, Professor." Harry spat the last word as if it were the vilest of insults.

Snape's already-pallid skin lightened a shade. "What did Dumbledore tell you of his plans?" he asked.

The question was simple, there could be no doubt, but it made Harry see red. "You will not speak his name," he said, punctuating his demand with a wave of his wand. "I won't let you act as if you had nothing to do with his death."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"You played your part well," Harry said. "Very well. Dumbledore believed in you. Trusted you. We all trusted you."

Spittle flew from Snape's mouth as he shouted words no one would ever hear.

"You betrayed him. Betrayed us all." Harry paused, shaking his head. "I'll kill you for it, Snape."

Slowly, Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Snape's forehead. "You know, I'd have never believed it possible if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. You surprised me, Professor, truly."

Snape was frantic now. He knew that if he went for his wand, Potter would strike him down where he stood. But he had to do _something_.

He reached for one of his pockets. Perhaps if he showed him Hufflepuff's Cup, the child would see reason. He felt his fingers close around it, barely noticing as Harry violently slashed his wand downward.

Soundlessly, Snape screamed.

He looked incredulously to the floor and saw his arm from the elbow down, the muscles convulsing as the severed limb twitched, still clutching the tiny, golden cup.

Harry's eyes never left Snape's. The expression of hate clouding those vivid, green eyes wounded Snape in a way Harry's curse had not.

"There'll be no need to draw your wand, Severus."

Before Snape could stop it, the wand shot out of his robes and into Harry's outstretched hand. Harry managed a small smile as he focused his attention on the wand. Snape could only watch as his only means of defense burned to ash.

Harry dropped the wand to the ground as it was consumed by fire. For the first time, he saw Snape's blood-soaked appendage. His eyes widened as he noticed the object Snape's fingers still clung to.

He ended the silencing spell.

Smiling fully now, he asked, "So you actually brought it? Does your master know you're using a piece of his soul as bait?"

"You do not know the whole story, Potter. Please, you must listen." Snape's voice was strained and rigid as he Occluded his mind, trying to ignore his pain. It was only through supreme force of will that he could articulate his thoughts coherently.

"I must listen," Harry repeated. "But I'd much rather end this. Now."

Harry twirled his wand in a pattern Snape did not recognize. Before he realized what was happening, the Potions Master fell to the floor, his entire body paralyzed. He could not move, but he could still _feel_. A heat, more intense than any he'd felt before, seared the soles of his feet. In his periphery, he could see a small, black flame inching toward him. Snape tried to kick, to roll, to scream, to do anything, but he was unable. He could only watch as the flame moved forward, slowly enveloping his body, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

"How does it feel, Professor? To be helpless?"

At once, Snape noticed he could move his jaw. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say. He bit down on his tongue and focused his mind, trying to preserve whatever dignity he had left.

He met Harry's eyes again, unsure what he would see in them. The hate was gone, replaced by a look of cold indifference. In the face of extraordinary pain, he did not notice as Harry invaded his mind.

Harry rifled through the man's memories, looking for only one thing: a name. He found it quickly. Auror Jean Leguay. He would pay the man a visit soon.

For now, however, there was more pressing business. He withdrew from Snape's mind and found his severed arm on the floor. Harry carefully extracted the horcrux from Snape's fingers. He knew it to contain a piece of Voldemort's soul, but he could no longer feel Voldemort's overwhelming wrongness as he once had.

Harry walked into the next room and placed the horcrux on the floor. He pointed his wand and cleared his mind. He needed complete control of his emotions for the spell he was about to cast.

A serpent of fire, hot enough to singe the hair on his arm, jumped forward from his wand, immediately sinking its fangs into the golden cup. Smoke billowed from the horcrux as it hissed and the metal melted. Voldemort was one step closer to mortality.

Daphne stared down at her Head of House with revulsion. A pile of ash rested where his legs had once been. He had screamed for a while, but he was now perfectly quiet.

"Greengrass, please." His voice was so soft she may not have heard it at all.

She saw a wisp of grey forming at the man's temple. A memory. She looked at it mistrustfully before conjuring a vial and collecting it. With some hesitation, she pocketed the vial. She only knew of one Pensieve, and it was currently inaccessible.

Severus Snape said nothing more as the flames consumed him.

A moment later, Harry walked back into the sitting room with Hermione and Viktor on his heels.

"What happens now?" asked Daphne.

"We end this," Harry said. "Today."

"There is still one horcrux left, yes?" asked Krum.

"The snake," Harry agreed. "But it's never too far from Voldemort. We can get rid of them both at the same time."

"So it's really almost over?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, it really is." Harry drew his wand and concentrated on the message he wanted to send McGonagall. He needed the Order to arrive at Hogsmeade that afternoon. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

"Where to now?" asked Hermione.

"Back to Bulgaria. We'll meet McGonagall at the Hog's Head in a few hours."

With four separate pops, they apparated back to Krum's home in the Bulgarian forest.

Harry walked to the table they'd sat at earlier and, with a sigh, fell into a chair. Daphne and Hermione joined him, with Krum following a moment later. He held a bottle of wine.

"For the nerves," he explained, pulling the cork. He filled a glass and handed it across the table to Harry. "It is a cabernet. Say what you will about the French, but they do know their wines."

Krum handed two more glasses to Hermione and Daphne, before raising his own. "To good friends."

The others raised their glasses. Hermione looked at Krum, catching his eye. "To the future."

One hand holding her glass aloft, Daphne placed her other on Harry's leg. "To kicking Voldemort's arse."

Harry swallowed heavily, looking fondly at the people sitting around him- the two women who meant more to him than anything else in the world and the young man who had somehow wormed his way into the heart of his first friend. And he had grown to rather like Krum on his own merits. He could not have asked for a better circle of friends. "To us."

Before the day ended, Harry knew, he would be fighting for his life and either he or Voldemort would not survive. But for now, he was surprisingly content.

* * *

The clouds were dark overhead, a light drizzle falling from the afternoon sky as Harry and the others appeared at the Hog's Head. The inside of the bar was no less dreary than the outside, with the light from a few candles doing little more than casting eerie shadows across the room.

"Aberforth," Harry said.

The barkeep nodded once. "Today's it, then?"

"It is," Harry said, turning his head and looking through the bar.

"Mister Potter." It was McGonagall.

"Professor," he said. "Where's everyone else?"

"Remus and Filius are distributing the portkeys. The Order will arrive outside the castle gates shortly." McGonagall looked grim but determined, entirely ready to do what had to be done.

"And the students?"

"Those who wish to fight will be allowed to do so."

"Well, let's not keep the Order waiting," he said, spinning and reappearing at the castle gates. Some of the Order members had already arrived. Harry looked up at the village, realizing for the first time that it was almost completely deserted. Daphne and the others appeared behind him. He turned and embraced her. "Are you ready for this, love?"

"Of course. Are you?"

"Absolutely." He brushed his lips against hers. "You have the Cloak?"

"I do," she said. "But I still think you should take it."

"You'll need it, Daphne. You know how important your job is."

She nodded reluctantly. With no small amount of hesitation, Harry released her and turned to face the Order. There were more of them than he'd realized. It looked like the entire Weasley family had decided to fight and he found his respect for the redheads growing.

"This is it," he said. His voice was soft but carried through the crowd. "The end of this damned war, of the senseless violence and death. Voldemort started this war decades ago. But today… Today, we're finishing it.

"Thanking you seems inappropriate, and grossly insufficient. So I won't. But know that you have my eternal gratitude, and that people the world over owe you a debt they can never repay."

The Order members were deathly quiet as he spoke.

"We don't know exactly what we're facing today. The Death Eaters suffered heavy losses at the last battle, and we can only guess how many of them are in the castle today. We do know that a large number of students, mostly Slytherins, elected to side with Voldemort. To the best of our knowledge, they have stayed in the castle these past months. If you encounter them, treat them as a threat, just as you would any other Death Eater.

"Offer no quarter. These are the animals who have thrown our country into turmoil, who have murdered as casually as you or I breath. We're not just putting an end to Voldemort and his forces today. We're sending a message. We're telling the world that we won't tolerate this again.

"Move on my signal."

Harry walked back to his group of friends. "Go to Honeydukes. I'll meet you there in a bit."

They nodded and apparated away.

"Professor," Harry said, pulling McGonagall to the side. "I'll get you through the gates, but I won't be able to help once the battle starts."

She nodded in understanding. "He will be in Albus' office."

"Yeah, that's what we thought, too." Harry extended his hand. McGonagall took it in hers. "See you on the other side."

Harry searched the crowd for a moment. "Remus, Filius, stay safe, yeah?"

The two men nodded. Realistically, Harry knew that not everyone would survive the battle. Perhaps he was being selfish, but he hoped with all his might that everyone he cared about would make it.

Harry raised the Elder Wand into the air and began twirling it. As he moved, the clouds overhead darkened and the rain intensified. A vortex of wind appeared, encircling Harry. His robes billowed, his hair fluttering in the gale. The people closest to him fell to the ground as they were violently pushed back. Harry pointed his wand toward the castle gates and the cyclone rushed forward. The wrought iron gates were ripped from their hinges and carried into the sky, where they hung for a moment before being flung deep into the Forbidden Forest. The storm continued forward, uprooting trees from the ground and slinging them in different directions. Before it could hit the castle, Harry disappeared with a pop that could not be heard over the noise of the storm.

He reappeared in the cellar of Honeydukes, where the others were waiting for him. Cobwebs hung from the corners, and it was apparent that the place had been abandoned for some time- probably since Voldemort took the castle. He threw open the trapdoor and jumped into the passageway. It was time to end this.

* * *

The noise was deafening as Harry's tornado hit the castle. The repairs made after Voldemort's attack had been largely superficial, and the stone and mortar front wall collapsed under the maelstrom. The first Death Eaters had only just begun to pour out of the castle when the storm struck. The Order members could not hear their cries as the black-cloaked figures were strewn to the wind, landing in lifeless heaps on the ground, or crushed under the collapsing battlements.

The sky lightened, the storm dissipating, as the Order rushed forward. Kingsley and Remus led from the front, their wands held at their sides. The approach to the castle seemed impossibly long. If not for the disruption caused by Harry's spell, the uphill charge would have been suicidal.

As they neared what had once been the castle's front doors, the pile of rubble exploded outward. Remus heard a grunt of pain from his side as a chunk of stone caught Kingsley in the stomach and he fell to his knees. The Auror had not been quick enough with his shield. He helped Kingsley to his feet, keeping his eyes focused on the cloud of dust concealing the entrance to Hogwarts.

He twirled his wand, forcing the dust to fade. Standing behind it was a line of Death Eaters and Frenchmen, their wands moving in unison. Remus twisted to the side, contorting his body as a pair of Killing Curses shot past him. He stepped to his right, locating a pile of stone and banishing it toward the Death Eaters. Their line broke as they moved frantically, trying in vain to avoid the pulverized rock. All around Remus, a barrage of spells lit up the overcast day as the Order pushed forward.

* * *

Voldemort sat in the office that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore. His chair was elevated, allowing him to look down on the most important of his subjects. They were seated around a table; Lucius conversed quietly with Alain Dubois, the French Minister, and Head Auror Jean Leguay stood to the side. Voldemort listened to the sounds of the battle, faint in this part of the castle, and smiled, twirling a snifter of cognac in his hand. Under normal circumstances, he'd have joined the fray. But this meeting was far more important. Besides, he did not feel Harry Potter's presence, meaning the attack on his castle was likely a token gesture.

"Lucius," Dubois began, "The people are beginning to turn against us. If we act too quickly on the continent, we will lose them completely."

"You overestimate their intelligence, Alain. The people will do as the media tells them," Lucius said.

"You do not understand how the media functions outside of Britain! Most of the continent enjoys free press, and stories of your reign cannot be repressed forever."

"They needn't be repressed indefinitely. After we take control of the Confederation-"

"The ICW will not fall to anything other than force! You're talking about a world war, Lucius. Surely you can't be serious."

"Have you ever known me to jest? I would like to take the Confederation internally, true, but if force becomes necessary, so be it." Lucius' voice was commanding and carried a power that the French Minister could not hope to match.

"Everyone, the entire world, will fight against us."

"And they will fall before the power of our Lord."

The Minister was silent for only a moment, before nodding in defeat. "How do you wish to conduct the invasion?"

Lucius smiled wickedly. "Invasion, Minister? What, pray tell, are you talking about?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, it is your intention to conquer Germany."

"Indeed," Lucius said. "But nothing so pedestrian as an invasion will be required."

"What is your plan, then?"

"A hostile takeover, my dear Minister. We will parley with the German leadership, and they will swear fealty to our Lord. Or they will die."

Voldemort lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, wondering, not for the first time, if it wouldn't be easier to kill Dubois and insert someone else in his place. The man's ideas often ran contrary to Voldemort's goals, but he was far too easy to bend, far too willing to capitulate. And that made him valuable.

No matter how much Voldemort resented him, he was more useful alive.

* * *

Harry and the others had walked down an immense set of stairs and through a narrow, earthen tunnel. At points, the tunnel had become so tightly enclosed that they were forced to crawl forward. Now, though, it was beginning to open, allowing them to return to their feet as they moved forward. Covered in dirt and sweat, they had made good time all things considered. They slowed as the earth below their feet gave way to a stone ramp. They had reached the entrance.

"Put on the cloak, Daphne," Harry said.

She complied immediately, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over herself and disappearing beneath it.

"When we get to the Headmaster's office, you'll take the lead and break to the left," Harry told her. "Stand in front of me, Viktor, and be ready with a shield. I don't know the password to this thing."

Viktor moved in front of Harry and raised his wand.

Harry pointed his wand above Krum's shoulder. "_Confringo_!"

Krum's shield sprang to life the moment Harry's spell hit the passageway, demolishing the statue of a hag from the inside. Debris rained toward them, but was caught by the shield.

Harry, Krum and Hermione climbed through the hole and into the castle proper, with Daphne walking behind them, invisible, watching their backs. They walked through the darkened corridor and toward the Grand Staircase. It seemed incredibly wrong for the castle to be so lifeless at this time of day.

Daphne stopped abruptly. A glint of light had caught her eye. In front of her, beside an alcove in the hallway, a boy with blond hair and green-trimmed robes, the Head Boy's Badge gleaming on his chest, cancelled his disillusionment charm. Draco Malfoy had appeared halfway between Daphne and the others, his wand out, and pointed at the group walking away from him.

Daphne's reaction was instant. She jerked her wand upward, twirling it counterclockwise. A violet spell struck Draco in the nape of his neck and he fell to the floor, thrashing violently. She walked toward him and brought her heel down on his wand, snapping it cleanly in two. She kicked him in the ribs and rolled him over onto his back. Eyes wide and hands scratching madly at his throat, Draco looked for his attacker while his trachea collapsed on itself.

"I warned you, Malfoy, time and again," she said, enjoying the look of recognition on his face. "But still, you try and curse Harry. It won't happen again."

His legs kicked with abandon as he convulsed, his lungs desperately searching for air, not aware that his panicked movements were depleting what little oxygen was still in his system.

He opened his mouth, a plea for mercy already formed on his lips, but was unable to do so much as moan.

"What's that, Draco?" she asked. "I can't quite hear you."

He tried again, as his movements became slower and less frantic.

Daphne laughed softly. "Until next time, then."

She looked up and saw the group ahead of her had stopped. Harry nodded once, his eyes finding hers despite the Invisibility Cloak, and they continued their journey. She looked at Malfoy for a final time before stepping over him and following after them.

* * *

Remus Lupin had long believed that free men fought better than slaves. They simply had more to fight for. While Voldemort's forces fought to establish their leader's control, the Order of the Phoenix fought for freedom. They fought for their lives and their country. Most of all, they fought to live in a world free from fear.

While most of the Order members knew this battle was little more than a distraction, the means for allowing Harry Potter to get close to Voldemort, they fought valiantly. Remus stood at the front of the Great Hall, Kingsley Shacklebolt still by his side. He couldn't tell how many Death Eaters were still fighting. But he knew one thing: there were less of them now than at the start.

The castle looked worse for wear. Fires had broken out around the Great Hall and sections of wall had collapsed all around them, leaving piles of debris throughout the Hall. That the castle still stood was a testament to the magic of the Founders.

Remus gestured to Kingsley, and both men fired blasting hexes into the middle of a group of Death Eaters. There was a spray of blood as limbs separated from bodies, leaving a half dozen men crying out for assistance on the floor.

"Werewolf!" Remus looked up and snarled as Antonin Dolohov hobbled toward him. His prosthetic leg did not seem to be entirely cooperative. Dolohov's movement had been labored since Harry removed his leg at the hip, but Remus knew him to be an exceptional wizard and one of Voldemort's foulest Death Eaters.

He barely had time to finish his thought before a curse shot out of Dolohov's wand. He raised a shimmering, crimson shield. Remus let out a grunt as the curse splashed against it and faded. He turned to the side, putting most of his weight on his front foot, and looked at the scene around him. It looked like the pitched battle from before had evolved into a number of individual duels. Bodies littered the ground, though more of them appeared to be Death Eaters than Order members. The floor under his feet was slick with blood.

Remus waved his wand in a tight circle, pointing it at the floor below Dolohov. The stone shimmered for a second before its color lightened. Dolohov fell, splashing, submerged to his waist in water.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Dolohov yelled, not able to point his wand at anyone in particular.

Remus turned in time to see the curse strike Minerva McGonagall in the back.

* * *

Harry's group stood just outside the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle which had guarded it was gone, likely destroyed by Voldemort to gain entry. Daphne ascended the staircase first, still invisible. She crossed the threshold, quickly moving to her left. Harry followed a step behind her, while Krum and Hermione waited at the bottom.

"Hello, Tom."

Voldemort smiled, raising his glass to him. "Harry Potter. I had not expected you here today."

"Sorry I didn't make an appointment." Harry needed to stall him, for just a moment.

"Quite all right," Voldemort said. "I've been meaning to get in touch."

"I'm sure. I rather enjoyed out last meeting." Harry flashed him a grin.

Voldemort's eyes darkened a shade, but he gave no other indication that Harry had angered him. "I believe introductions are in order. You already know Lucius, of course. This gentlemen is Alain Dubois, the French Minister for Magic. And this," Voldemort made a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating a man in pale blue robes. "Is Auror Jean Leguay. You've met, though you may not recall it. And he," Voldemort paused, his smile growing. "Knew your Godfather."

Harry's vision clouded as his anger threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to keep his wand lowered. He would be able to kill them all soon. He saw Nagini, coiled up at Voldemort's feet. He was sure that Daphne had seen the snake, too.

"Why is our esteemed Minister associating with this lot?" he asked Lucius.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" The curse came from Voldemort's side, and struck Nagini before he could hope to react.

Voldemort turned, a look of rage on his face, raising his newly-acquired wand, already green at the tip.

"_Accio Daphne_!" Daphne shot toward him, the Invisibility Cloak forgotten, and Harry pulled her out of the air, pushing her behind him and toward the staircase. She ran down them to where Krum and Hermione waited in the hallway.

"_Confringo_!" Harry's curse hit the floor between the four shocked men, rocking the office and sending shrapnel in every direction. Minister Dubois shrieked as chunks of stone struck his eyes and became embedded in his face. Blood poured freely from his head as he clawed at his eyes, desperate to remove the slivers of rock.

Harry backed down the stairs. Voldemort was the first to move, jumping to his feet and following Harry to the door. He jabbed his wand at the stone staircase, causing an explosion of his own. Harry snapped a shield into place, protecting himself from the flying debris as he continued his descent. Harry backed out into the hallway where the others were waiting for him.

Voldemort walked down slowly, his wand at the ready. Lucius had healed the Minister's eyes as best he could, and the others followed close behind him.

An enormous, metallic shield appeared in the hallway, Voldemort walking behind it. A barrage of curses struck it with a deafening ring.

Voldemort noticed the three others as he walked into the corridor, but his eyes were locked firmly on Harry. He walked toward Harry, as Harry backed away leading Voldemort away from everyone else. In his periphery, he saw that his three friends had paired off in individual duels.

"New wand, Tom?" he asked, recalling exactly where he had left Voldemort's wand in Krum's house, secure under the Fidelius Charm.

"Indeed. Not a perfect match, but more than sufficient for this trifle."

"Confident, are you?" Harry leveled the Elder Wand at Voldemort and took the first shot.

Voldemort swatted the light blue curse away with a slight flick of his wrist, sending it careening to the side. The spell impacted the wall, gouging a metre-deep hole in the stone.

Harry Occluded his mind, focusing on the magical fire he had used to destroy Hufflepuff's Cup. He knew that Fiendfyre was a risk, but he couldn't afford to pull any punches with the Dark Lord. A torrent of flames, much more intense than earlier, rushed at Voldemort. Chimeras and serpents danced in the fire, melting the stone floor as they approached him.

With an unnerving calm, the Dark Lord raised his wand above his head, forcing the flames to part as they passed him. The magical fire changed direction, roaring at Voldemort from behind. Without turning to face it, he pointed his wand behind his back, causing the fire to fade with a whispered incantation. It rushed past him again, little more than a warm breeze.

Voldemort whispered another incantation, one Harry did not recognize. The effect was instant. Harry's robes billowed behind him, as if caught in a gale and Harry struggled to stay on his feet. He chanced a look behind him and saw a growing sphere of black energy. Chunks of stone rushed into the void as it expanded. Harry felt himself being pulled toward it. He took a step back, fighting to keep from falling.

Harry twirled his wand, pointing it at the floor below Voldemort as he turned to counter the curse.

The ground beneath Voldemort's feet shook as the stones swayed and morphed, rising high into the air and attacking him from all angles. A rock pelted toward the Dark Lord's face. He blasted it to dust with ease, already turning to the next one.

Harry's wand shook as he siphoned energy from the swirling, black vacuum. He was in no hurry to find out where the things it swallowed had gone. The sphere kept shrinking until it disappeared with a pop.

Before Harry could turn his attention back to Voldemort, he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. He looked down at it. Just above his heart was a small hole, pierced from the back to the front, going through flesh and bone alike. His trick with the floor hadn't bought him as much time as he'd hoped it would.

He turned, his left arm limp at his side, and threw himself back into the duel.

* * *

Remus cast curse after enraged curse at Antonin Dolohov. He had respected Minerva greatly, and seeing her fall victim to Dolohov's casual disregard for life had angered him profoundly.

Dolohov was forced further and further back, until he finally hit the wall on the far side of the Great Hall, well away from all the other fighters. He breathed heavily, his wand weaving through the air, barely quick enough to keep up with the enraged werewolf.

Dolohov's movements slowed as he tired. He'd lost and he knew it. With a scowl, he threw his wand to the ground.

"I surrender," he said, sounding disgusted.

His eyes widened as Remus' Killing Curse hit him in the chest.

Remus kept his wand aloft as his eyes scanned the crowd. After a second, he rushed off to help Kingsley.

* * *

Viktor Krum was a fairly talented duelist. He knew that the past months he'd spent under Harry's tutelage had been invaluable. But even now, as he watched the duel between Harry and Voldemort, he found himself feeling inadequate. They both commanded magic in a way Krum knew he could never emulate.

As it was, Krum could barely keep up with the fluid wandwork of Jean Leguay. The French Auror was beating him, and quite thoroughly. Krum lacked Hermione's vast knowledge and Daphne's elegant precision, so he tried to match the Frenchman with brute force. It wasn't working.

Krum had a deep cut across his face. His robes were singed and fused to his skin. His broken ribs grated against his lungs.

He cast another Killing Curse at the Auror, but Leguay gracefully sidestepped it. He met Krum's eyes, a look of disdain on his face.

The Auror flicked his wrist, casting a curse at Krum's head.

"_Protego_!" Krum cast an impressive shield charm. It shimmered to life just in time to intercept Leguay's noxious, orange curse. Their spells collided with an explosion of light- so bright in front of Krum's face that it could have been the sun.

He never saw the Killing Curse that hit him in the chest.

* * *

Hermione's anguished cry caused Harry to look over to the others, just in time to see Krum fall to the floor, the life gone from his eyes. The distraction cost him, as Voldemort's bludgeoner found its mark. Harry flew backward, a terrible pain in his chest. He landed hard on his back.

Harry struggled to regain his feet quickly. There would be time for recuperating when this was over. When Harry stood, he found that Leguay had joined the Dark Lord.

Harry slashed his wand, directing a severing curse at both of them- the two men he hated more than anyone else. Voldemort shielded easily, as expected. Leguay was just as fast with his charm.

The Auror's shield flared an odd, purple color as the Elder Wand extracted itself from Harry's fingers. Harry was too stunned to react as his own curse cut a deep gash across his chest. Blood spurted from the wound as Harry drew his holly wand, cauterizing it to the best of his ability.

Leguay caught the Elder Wand out of the air and looked at it curiously. He pocketed it, returning to the duel.

Curses shot out of Harry's wand as he tried to eliminate the Auror as quickly as possible. It seemed that Leguay had taken possession of the Elder Wand, but there was little time to consider that at the present.

Voldemort's face twisted into a grotesque smile as he turned his wand on Viktor Krum's broken body. The corpse shakily rose to its feet.

* * *

Hermione Granger could not afford to take the time to mourn. To do that would surely get them all killed. She had seen the man she had come to love killed- struck down by a man he never should have been fighting. And she had been locked in a duel with Alain Dubois, unable to do anything to help Viktor.

Dubois was not as talented as his cohorts, but he was crafty. He'd spent his entire life surviving, and was exceedingly good at it. Hermione had him beaten and they both knew it. She just couldn't land the killing blow.

She gave a startled cry, nearly dropping her wand, when she saw Viktor's reanimated corpse ambling toward her. His body was broken, just as it had been when he fell. His pupils were dilated, and his eyes looked forward without seeing. Her lip quivered and she fell to her knees.

* * *

Daphne watched the scene before her unfold with growing horror. They'd lost Viktor, and Hermione would soon join him in death if she didn't help her. Hermione had frozen, and her opponent hadn't fared much better. The Minister's wand had fallen to his side, a horrified look on his face. He apparently wasn't accustomed to necromancy.

She pointed her wand at Krum's body- an Inferius. "_Accio_!"

The corpse flew to her, and she lined up her spell carefully, banishing it directly at Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius' eyes widened as the creature slammed into him. Krum's hands rose to Lucius' face and clawed at him.

Malfoy attempted to free himself from Krum's grip, but he wasn't strong enough. His wand was pinned to his side.

Daphne raised her wand into the air, conjuring a fire whip- one of Harry's favorites. She directed it toward Lucius and Krum, enclosing it around their bodies.

Lucius screamed, an inarticulate cry, as his body was halved along with the Inferius he had struggled against. The two of them fell, in four pieces, to the castle floor.

Daphne looked back over at Hermione. The girl was in shock, almost catatonic. But Dubois seemed to have recovered his senses. He slowly raised his wand, pointing it Hermione.

But Daphne was faster. "_Confringo_!" The Minister's head exploded, a shower of crimson hitting the wall behind him.

"Hermione," she yelled. "We have to help Harry!"

* * *

Sweat dripped from Harry's brow as he was pushed backward. He'd fought hard against his two skilled opponents, but had been forced onto the defensive. He weaved and moved away from the curses he could avoid, shielding against those he couldn't. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever.

Another shield materialized in front of his own.

"Daphne," he said. "You made it."

"Always."

Harry dropped his shield, pushing forward with a renewed vigor.

* * *

Remus looked around the Great Hall. The battle was effectively over. It was only a matter of cleanup now. But he needed to find Harry.

* * *

"This is the great Harry Potter?" asked Leguay. "Better than your Godfather, I think, but you still have much to learn."

Harry growled as he fired another curse at the Auror. He wasn't a match for Voldemort and Harry in terms of power, but the Frenchman was nearly impossible to hit, even with Harry and Daphne firing spells at him.

Leguay sidestepped another curse, the epitome of grace, when his eyes widened with surprise. He fell to his knees, blood pooling in the floor by his legs. Hermione stood behind him, her wand raised.

Daphne threw up a shield, intercepting Voldemort's curses, while Harry focused on the Auror.

"_Expelliarmus_! _Accio Elder Wand_!" Leguay's wand flew across the corridor and the Elder Wand soared from his pocket into Harry's outstretched hand. The Wand felt alive in his hand, like it truly belonged to him for the first time since his capture. He jabbed it toward Leguay.

Bruises broke out all across his body as his blood vessels ruptured. He fell the rest of the way down, onto his face, as blood quickly filled his lungs.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Hermione ended the Auror's life.

Harry turned back toward Voldemort and Daphne allowed her shield to drop.

"Let's finish this, Tom."

* * *

Remus ran up the Great Staircase, taking the steps three or four at a time. The higher he got, the more he could feel the magic, thick in the air. It crackled, making the hair on his arms stand. It was an almost overpowering feeling. He finally reached the seventh floor, and was nearly blinded by the sheer magnitude of spells being exchanged.

* * *

The Elder Wand was a blur in Harry's hand as he attacked Voldemort, forcing the Dark Lord into a slow retreat. Voldemort had no choice but to dodge most of the spells as his shields were no longer holding.

Voldemort's wand also moved rapidly, firing a rainbow of curses at Harry. They had both elected to forgo shields, and go entirely on the offensive.

Two of their spells, Harry's white and Voldemort's black, collided in the air, sending a shockwave of magical energy throughout the castle. The very foundations of the school seemed to shake at the discharge. Dust fell from the ceiling overhead.

Both men paused, breathing heavily.

"There are no more horcruxes, Tom. This ends today, one way or another."

A glimmer of fear crossed Voldemort's face.

"You think you have a chance?" Voldemort asked. "You- a mere boy!"

"All the more embarrassing for you, no?"

"There is no one left to die for you, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, struggling to maintain his composure. "I have killed them all, while you hid behind their skirts. But your realize that, don't you? You were there, hiding and watching, when I ended Dumbledore's miserable existence."

With a growl, Harry attacked again, quicker than Voldemort would have thought possible. Daphne joined him, throwing as many curses as she could manage at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort raised his wand, erecting a shield to block the stream of curses.

His arm shook as spell after spell impacted his shield. He leaned forward, pouring all of his magic into sustaining his withering defense. With an anticlimactic crack, the shield collapsed.

"_Accio portkey_!" Daphne yelled, incinerating a gaudy ring as soon as it flew off Voldemort's finger.

Harry slashed his wand again. A virulent, green curse struck Voldemort's shoulder. His wand dropped to the floor as his arm began to decay.

"Goodbye, Tom Riddle," Harry said, walking forward, pointing his wand at Voldemort's forehead. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Voldemort fell to the floor, a look of surprise etched permanently on his snake-like face.

As the flush of adrenaline left him, Harry felt exhaustion set in. His legs weakening, he nearly collapsed. Daphne caught him before he could fall.

"I've got you, Harry," she said. "For the rest of my life."


	25. Epilogue

One Year Later

The white, stone obelisk reached heavenward, towering above the Scottish countryside and the smooth surface of the Black Lake shimmered in the afternoon sun. The sky was a bright blue, and entirely free of clouds.

Harry and Daphne stood hand-in-hand looking up at the monument. They wore matching golden bands on their fingers. Behind them stood the remnants of a medieval castle, the stones from its many turrets littering the surrounding grounds. Filius said it could be repaired with time, but Harry feared he was being exceedingly optimistic.

He took a tentative step toward the memorial that had been meant for his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, but had come to represent everyone lost in the struggle against Voldemort. Daphne tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him forward. He hesitated at first, before following her in earnest.

Being here and seeing this shrine somehow made everything more real.

Daphne gave his hand a final squeeze before releasing him and beckoning him toward the inscription at the base of the monument. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the name, reverently tracing the letters.

In that moment, he couldn't help but remember himself as a wide-eyed twelve-year-old, sitting in the Headmaster's office- how he had listened to the old man's tales of his past and watched a younger version of that same man perform awe-inspiring feats of magic in the duel that had made him famous.

He remembered his first lesson with the Headmaster, when he had been instructed to attack and give it his all.

He remembered Dumbledore, looking very much like the tired, old man he was, telling him to live his life to its fullest, only moments before sacrificing his own.

"Thank you sir," he whispered. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Daphne took Harry into her arms, both of them taking comfort from the other's presence. They were both humbled by the monument, a reminder of all the sacrifices made to stop Voldemort.

Daphne said a silent word of thanks to Severus Snape. She was the only living soul who knew of his contribution.

_Daphne climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office carefully. Though the bodies had been removed, little had been done to repair the castle._

_She had returned, ostensibly to retrieve Harry's Cloak, while Harry himself was still confined to their bed. But she had an ulterior motive. She removed the vial of Snape's memories from her pocket, looking at it curiously. She only hoped that Dumbledore's Pensieve was still in working order._

_She crossed the threshold into the office. It was a wreck. An overturned table rested near the crater in the center of the room. The floor was covered with dried blood._

_She found the Invisibility Cloak immediately, right where she'd dropped it._

_She searched the office for a moment, finding the Pensieve buried beneath a pile of rubble. It was empty, all the Headmaster's memories gone, but unscathed. _

_She emptied the vial and twirled the memories with her wand, before submerging herself in the device. _

_She emerged a few minutes later, a look of shock on her face. Harry could _never _know about this. _

"_Evanesco!" With a twirl of her wand, Snape's memories were gone forever._

She'd never once regretted her decision.

Daphne took a moment to look across the grounds. It was still a battlefield, and she silently wondered if it ever would, or even could, return to being a school. But today, exactly a year after the battle that had decided the fate of the wizarding world, everything was silent, save for a light breeze whipping across the countryside, carrying with it, perhaps, the whispers of the men who had fought and died here.

She spotted one other couple, standing off in the distance.

Hermione had her latest lover clinging to her arm as she looked down at Dumbledore's memorial. Since Viktor's death, she'd taken up a number of flings, none of them lasting longer than a month. Harry was desperate to help her, but she just wouldn't take his advice anymore.

Daphne looked back at Harry, once again amazed at all he'd accomplished. He was a shoo-in for Minister as soon as he was old enough for the position. A very vocal minority had even insisted that he be given the job immediately.

Even a year after Voldemort's death, the government was in shambles. The natural leaders had all been lost to the war, and Harry wouldn't be ready to enter _that _arena for a few more years. The ICW had taken a very firm hand with reconstituting the Wizengamot, instituting a party system with proportional representation. The real void had been and continued to be executive power. No one had enough support to really change anything. It was a burden that would surely fall to Harry as soon as he was able to carry it.

Their eyes met and she couldn't help but smile.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded.

Harry cast a final glance at the monument before turning, his arm wrapped around Daphne's shoulders, and walking away.

"You know, Potter, I never properly thanked you for that Patronus back in third year."

Harry smiled.

The future was uncertain, but rich with possibilities and it was up to them to shape it, to create the world they wanted for themselves and their family. It would take time and effort, but it would be worth it. And while tomorrow was undetermined, still theirs to mould, there was one thing they could know for sure: they would be loved every step of the way.

The End

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* * *

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A/N:

_And our journey is at an end. It's been a long ride, and to those of you who've made it to the end, thank you for your patience. This has been my first real attempt at fiction writing and your support was invaluable. So, how about a review, eh? _

_Keep an eye on my profile for future stories. I've got a few ideas about what to write next, and you can expect something shortly._

_Thanks again,_

_Silentclock_


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